Friends and Enemies
by daro-jesse
Summary: Draco/Luna. Draco Malfoy has been ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore - an impossible task. How far will Draco go to save himself? Can he convince the sainted Harry Potter to believe in him? And what happens if he falls in love with his most unlikely ally in Dumbledore's Army - Luna Lovegood? Set at the beginning of HPB. (Previously published under my former pen name, jessedaro.)
1. Chapter 1

AU: Set immediately after the events of "Order of the Phoenix," Book Five. Draco/Luna.

**Chapter One: The Accomplice**

"To be chosen by the Dark Lord is an honor, Draco, you must know this."

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes, reclining his sleek blonde head against the limousine's black leather upholstery. He did his best to keep a neutral expression in place, but honestly, his aunt Bella's endless rambling on the subject of Lord Voldemort was wearing more than a little thin.

Even with his eyes closed, Draco could sense the tension in his mother, who sat next to him. He could picture her slender body curled in on itself, her curtain of white-blonde hair hanging lank around her pale face, her lips drawn and bloodless. This was how she had looked since the night two weeks after his father had been carted unceremoniously off to Azkaban, when Lord Voldemort had decided to do Draco the "honor" of appointing him Albus Dumbledore's murderer.

What did one say when the most powerful dark wizard of all time made such a "request"? Draco was no fool, regardless what some of his Hogwarts professors might think: He had stared mutely at the tops of his feet, aware of his mother slowly collapsing into a chair beside him, while the Dark Lord explained how the Malfoy family could repay him for Lucius' serious mistake at the Ministry – a mistake that had cost Voldemort his much-sought-after prophecy.

"You accept this task, then?" the cold voice had hissed.

Without lifting his eyes, Draco had nodded once, wordlessly.

Aunt Bella, of course, had reacted much more dramatically. "Of course he accepts, my lord!" she had cried, vaulting forward from where she'd been hovering beside the enormous fireplace. High spots of color appearing on her cheeks, she had seized Draco's arm, dragging him a few steps closer to her beloved master. "Our family only lives to serve you!"

Lord Voldemort's steely glare had slowly drawn Draco's eyes up to his. Not so much as a shudder had betrayed Draco's revulsion at the snake-like countenance of the Dark Lord.

"Is this true, Draco?" Lord Voldemort had murmured. His tone reminded Draco of a cat toying with a mouse. "Do you live only to serve me?"

Draco had shrugged off his aunt's cloying grip and squared his shoulders, allowing a lifetime's worth of Malfoy arrogance to shine through. "I'm ready," he had declared, without a trace of hesitation. "I'm ready to fight."

A sardonic smile had played upon the Dark Lord's lips. "So be it," he had decreed, and so they had left it.

Only Aunt Bella couldn't seem to leave it. All summer, she had dogged Draco's steps, wanting him to reveal his plans for how he would kill Dumbledore. He had avoided answering her questions directly – intimating that he had a plan, but resorting to stony silence when she persisted in trying to wheedle the particulars out of him – though he had made use of her knowledge. Aunt Bella had been one of the Dark Lord's top lieutenants for years before his downfall, and she had readily agreed when Draco had asked her to teach him the darkest, most complicated magic she knew.

Once those lessons began, Draco's mother had retreated to the farthest wing of the Malfoy mansion. Draco didn't know if she was that distraught over losing her husband and, quite likely, her son, since he very much doubted that Voldemort meant for him to succeed where so many great wizards had failed, or if Narcissa actually disapproved of his sudden interest in the Dark Arts, for which she had never shared her husband's (or her sister's) passion.

Aunt Bella was an excellent and avid teacher. She spared no thought for Draco's youth or innocence; every cruel trick she had ever divined at her master's side she sought to pass on to Draco, determined that he should succeed in this, as she called it, "most glorious task."

Draco knew the stakes better, perhaps, than his aunt. He knew had no choice but to find some way to carry out Voldemort's wishes – or his parents would face the consequences for his failure right along with him.

And so he had learned everything Aunt Bella had to teach him, curses he had heard of but never dreamed of casting (like the Cruciatus curse, or the Fiendfyre) and some, honestly, he never even knew existed (like a curse for literally eviscerating an opponent, and one for slicing through skin and bone). The Death Eaters who wandered through the Malfoy's estate seemed to have an endless supply of magical objects expressly forbidden by the Ministry; Aunt Bella had shown Draco many of these as well, especially those seemingly innocuous items that carried horrific curses, designed not simply to kill but to torture before death.

"Get one of these into the castle and into Albus Dumbledore's hands," Aunt Bella had whispered, levitating a cursed necklace around Draco's bedroom, "and your task is done."

Draco had obediently nodded, without voicing his doubts that Dumbledore would be so foolish as to not recognize a cursed object when he saw one.

All in all, Draco reflected wryly, this had not qualified as his most enjoyable summer holiday to date. Still, worrying about his father in Azkaban, fearing for his mother's fragile psyche, and dreading the task set before him had been easier to put off while absorbed in Aunt Bella's lessons and his own private plotting. Now, as the moment of his departure drew near and he could no longer lose himself in those macabre studies, he could feel the doubt and fear catching up to him.

"Ah, we're here," Aunt Bella declared suddenly, causing Draco's eyes to pop open. Sure enough, the limo, which the Malfoys kept for ventures into the Muggle world, had stopped in front of King's Cross Station. The driver was hurrying around to unload Draco's luggage from the trunk.

Draco understood, without being told, that he would board the Hogwarts Express alone this year. Aunt Bella obviously couldn't saunter onto a platform loaded with Ministry officials, seeing as how she was a wanted escapee from Azkaban, and Narcissa had not poked her head outside her front door since Lucius's arrest.

"You'll write and let us know if there's anything you need, anything from Borgin and Burke's, maybe?" His aunt's eyes searched Draco's face hungrily, desperate for some clue about his plan. Draco simply nodded. Turning from her, he kissed his mother's ashen cheek, then made to step from the car.

Narcissa caught his wrist gently, holding him back. "Good luck," she whispered, her ice-blue eyes, a mirror of his own, staring hard into his face.

Draco's throat constricted. For a moment, he felt eleven years old and about to leave home for school for the first time. He understood every unsaid sentiment his mother had poured into those two, strangled words: _I'm sorry this has fallen to you; whatever happens, make sure you survive. Don't worry about us._

Just as he had with the Dark Lord, Draco nodded silently, though with his eyes he did his best to convey his determination not to fail. Nodding, a look of stark grief marring her lovely features, his mother released his arm and turned her face away from him.

If only he could tell her the truth…But Draco knew this was a journey he had take alone, without his parent's protection, for the first time in his life, really. Always before his father's specter had hung over him, wealthy and influential, able to buy him a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team or earn him the easy friendship of his House mates. Not this time. This time, he was on his own.

Not even Aunt Bella could help him. The coolly appraising look she cast after him with her heavy-lidded eyes told Draco that, for all her efforts this summer to make him into a dark wizard capable of matching Dumbledore, Aunt Bella doubted that he even had a plan. But she was wrong; Draco did have a plan, a very carefully laid-out plan, in point of fact.

To make it work, though, he needed an accomplice – and his choice had to be perfect, or the whole thing was likely to blow up in his face. Draco knew he would only have one chance to do this right. One misstep, one false start, and he would not be given another opportunity. He was nervous – terrified, really, if he was honest with himself – but now that his mind was made up, he was eager to put the plan into action.

Draco pushed a trolley laden with his belongings slowly through the crowded station. He knew he was cutting it close; he knew he couldn't afford to miss the train this year, of all years. Yet the knowledge of what faced him on the other side of the barrier – the reproachful glares from all those who despised Death Eaters, the wary sidelong glances from all those who secretly supported Lord Voldemort but were too cowardly to declare open allegiance and face Azkaban – slowed his steps. He might as well have been tromping through quicksand, his feet fell so heavily on the dirty floor.

But, at last, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters presented itself. With a quick glance over both shoulders to ensure he wasn't being watched by any of the scurrying Muggles, Draco pushed through the magical barrier.

_No fear, _he heard Aunt Bella whisper in his ear_. Never show fear._

The scarlet steam engine stood whistling on the tracks. The reception to his appearance was not as terrible as Draco had imagined; he had cut his arrival so close to the train's departure that most students were already onboard, which meant the parents were either dashing alongside the train to push forgotten schoolbooks through half-open windows or waving frantically to the faces pressed against the doors. Draco handed his trunk over to a frazzled-looking porter and, with his head held high, glaring left and right at those around him as if hoping for a confrontation, stepped onto the crowded train.

Here again, no one dared make a single snide comment, although a flurry of whispering broke out behind him as he passed. Draco ignored it. If that do-gooder Potter could withstand being singled out everywhere he went, all because of some stupid prophecy and a ridiculous scar on his forehead, Draco supposed he could handle the wide-eyed stares of a few stupid second-years.

Sooner or later, Draco knew he would have to put the second part of his plan into action – he would have to face his fellow Syltherins, intimate to them that the Dark Lord had brought him into his deepest confidences, and make it plain that only those Hogwarts students who swore allegiance to Lord Voldemort and his mission to rid the magical world of those whose blood was impure were friends of Lucius Malfoy's son. But before he sought out Crabbe and Goyle or any Slytherin-filled compartment, he had someone much more pressing to see.

Luna Lovegood floated down the crowded corridors of the Hogwarts Express, noting with mild curiosity the looks of frank admiration cast her way by students who usually took pains to avoid her. She smiled serenely back at those who spoke to her, but she didn't stop to talk. She knew what everyone would want to know – about the battle at the Ministry, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning, and most of all, about Harry Potter, the Chosen One.

Luna had little interest in popularity. While it was pleasant not to be called "Loony Lovegood" behind her back, and while she was looking forward to her possessions remaining in her trunk (instead of hidden throughout the castle) this year, she didn't care much what people thought of her. Like her father, Luna understood that her opinions – in fact, her whole outlook on the world – were too bizarre for most people to respect. That mattered little to her, because Luna knew her own mind, whether anyone else agreed with her or not.

The nicest part of this year for Luna, really, would be having friends. And that was actually who she was looking for – her friends, Dumbledore's Army – when who she should run smack into but Draco Malfoy.

"Excuse me," Luna said automatically, as the tall, slender boy bumped hard into her with his shoulder, knocking her into the wall. She felt a moment's thrill of fear: After all, Draco Malfoy's father was in Azkaban now, in part because of what she had helped Harry do at the Ministry…

Malfoy cast a coldly appraising look over her that, while certainly scathing, didn't indicate the depth of hatred Luna had expected. "Sorry," he drawled, sounding anything but.

Watching him move off, Luna absently rubbed the bruised place on her arm where he'd caused her to stumble into the wall. Luna was not the sort to form hasty judgments of people. Unlike many of her friends in the D.A., even sweet Neville Longbottom, she didn't dislike Draco Malfoy on principle. It wasn't his fault that his parents had chosen to support You-Know-Who. It was, however, his choice to be positively vile to her friends, like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and Neville and, of course, Harry Potter himself, throughout their tenure at Hogwarts. For that, Luna disliked Draco Malfoy and his friends.

Still, she felt a twinge of sympathy for him, given what his family had been through this summer. Draco was good-looking and athletic (if not the best Quidditch player in school, admittedly). Up until this year, Luna knew he had enjoyed the easy popularity of the rich and beautiful. How different must his life be now, with his father openly avowed to the Death Eaters? Even the Slytherin students whose families supported You-Know-Who probably wouldn't want to associate openly with the Malfoys, for fear of losing their own freedom.

Luna's sympathy for Draco didn't extend very far, seeing as how he had never shown the slightest distaste for his family's views. Not like Harry's courageous godfather Sirius, whom Luna's father had told her had rebelled against his pureblood parents when he was hardly older than she was now. The wizarding world was at war, and if Draco Malfoy had chosen the wrong side, Luna could accept, in her straightforward way, that he was her enemy.

A few steps down the corridor, Luna encountered a much friendlier face – Ginny Weasley's. "Luna!" Ginny exclaimed, appearing truly glad to see her. "You look so pretty. Did you cut your hair?"

Luna ran her fingers absently through her slightly-shorter, honey-blonde tresses. "Yes," she admitted. "I got into some old potion cleaning out one of Daddy's cabinets a few weeks ago, and it started turning my hair green. I had to cut the ends off, but now I should be safe from wrackspurts. I was just thinking it would be nice to run into you," she added, which was perfectly true. Ginny was one of Luna favorite people; she was always interested in the wonderful creatures Luna described to her, unlike Hermione, who quite often drove herself to distraction trying to explain how such things simply could not exist, all because nobody had yet put them down in one of her books.

"Good holiday?" Ginny returned.

"Oh yes," Luna answered. "My father's been corresponding with a friend who's tracking down fire slugs in Brazil. It's going to make a really wonderful issue, maybe even better than Harry's interview…"

Luna was still answering Ginny's queries about the origins of the fire slug when they finally came to a compartment full of friendly faces. Ron and Hermione, apparently finished with their Prefect duties, waved them inside, and Harry scooted closer to Neville to make room for the two of them. The conversation turned to their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Horace Slughorn, whom Harry had actually met over the holidays.

"He's a bit of a show-off, really," Harry admitted. "But Dumbledore must think he's worth the trouble."

After that, Neville, Seamus, Ron and Harry started talking about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Ginny turned to Luna, her face serious.

"I saw Malfoy bump into you. Was he being rude?"

Luna smiled. She was genuinely touched by the fierceness of Ginny's expression. Though she knew Ginny's explosive temper, honed on five older brothers, tended to fire at the slightest provocation, it was nice to have friends watching out for her.

"Oh no," she assured her. "He was just being Malfoy."

Before hardly any time at all seemed to have elapsed, Hermione was announcing that they needed to put on their school robes. As Luna slipped hers over her head, a scrap of paper fell out of the pocket of her jeans.

"Here you go," Harry said, picking it up and handing it to her.

Luna started to crumple it up, assuming it was some old note she'd written to herself (she was always forgetting things, try as she might to be organized), then thought better of it and unfolded the paper. To her surprise, scrawled across the torn parchment in spidery, slanting letters was a cryptic message:

_Tomorrow, stroke of midnight, Great Hall. Come alone._

"Luna? You coming?"

Luna looked up to find Neville waiting expectantly in the corridor. Everyone else had already moved off, as the train had just lurched to a halt at the Hogsmeade station. "Yes," Luna answered, stuffing the note back in her pocket, her heart beating hard and fast inside her chest.

"D'ya hear I'm helping Professor Sprout tend the greenhouses this year?" Neville asked, as Luna linked her arm through his so they wouldn't be separated in the press of students disembarking into the cool evening air.

Nodding, Luna half-listened as Neville listed the plants he hoped to be in charge of. Her thoughts were focused on the note. Who could have written it? Who could have slipped it into her pocket? She'd been sitting beside Harry and Neville the entire trip – unless somebody had put it there while she was saying goodbye to her father at the train station. Maybe it was someone's idea of a joke, luring her off alone to bully her…

But no, she decided, that wouldn't be the way of things this year. People knew now that Harry had been telling the truth about You-Know-Who all along, and they knew that she was Harry's friend. That knowledge glowed like a tiny light deep inside Luna's chest, warming her from the inside out: She had friends, good, brave, kind friends, and because of that, this year she would not be tormented. That meant whoever had sent the note must really want to meet her. The question was, why?

Without fully understanding her decision, Luna decided not to mention the message to anyone as she clambered into one of the horseless carriages beside Hermione and Ginny. She couldn't help stealing a glance at Neville across the way, but he seemed absorbed in Quidditch talk with Harry and Ron. She'd suspected now and again that Neville might have a bit of a crush on her; she had to admit, it would be nice to have a boyfriend like other girls, especially someone caring and sensitive – and surprisingly open-minded – like Neville. She also knew that Neville was painfully shy. If the note was from him, she didn't want to spoil his plans by announcing it to the whole group.

And if it wasn't…Well, Luna decided, nobody ever solved a mystery without taking some risks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Alliance**

Draco's first full day back at Hogwarts was made easier by the fact that he established himself as a force to be reckoned with in Slytherin House again before ever exiting the Hogwarts Express.

It hadn't taken much, actually. He'd simply sauntered up to Zacharias Smith, one of the most cowardly gits in school, and, outside a compartment filled with Slytherins, and had demanded to know if Smith was part of Potter's so-called army.

"I-I…" Smith had stammered, his face turning bone-white.

As everyone in the corridor held their breath, Draco had leveled his wand at Smith's chest and said coldly into the silence, "I'd think carefully before I decided to oppose the Dark Lord. My family," he'd added in a ringing voice that carried to the dozens of curious ears pressed all along the corridor, "has already chosen their side."

To Smith, Draco had continued more quietly, though no less menacingly, "I'll be watching."

Smith had seemed close to collapsing from fear by that point. When Draco had slid open the door to the nearest compartment, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and a slew of other Slytherins had nearly fallen over themselves to make room for him.

Draco was glad he'd gone with his instincts. Most people were sheep; if he'd hesitated to shout his family's allegiance to Voldemort, he would likely have been ostracized, but by being so open about it, he'd set himself up to be a leader. And people were always looking for a leader.

So it wasn't alienation that made his first day back difficult. It wasn't even tolerating that pompous ass Horace Slughorn's thinly veiled surprise at how many "Outstanding" OWLS he'd received. Rather, it was waiting for nightfall – for the stroke of midnight, to be precise – when, if all went according to plan, Draco would take his first real step down a long, dangerous path. Turning back would not be an option.

Draco would either succeed, or he would die.

Luna spent most of her first day back at Hogwarts in a fever of nervous excitement.

She knew most of her classmates would have been surprised to learn that she was interested in anything besides Nargles, but Luna knew herself to be more similar to her peers than they believed. The possibility of a secret admirer intrigued and flattered her; the anticipation of a mysterious rendezvous was just as appealing to her as it would have been to any sixteen-year-old girl.

The hours crawled by. The most interesting event turned out to be Defense Against the Dark Arts; the last thing Luna had expected was to discover that Professor Snape was now their teacher. She remarked to Ginny between classes that Snape seemed an odd choice; Ginny responded by employing some exceptionally colorful language to express her opinion of Snape. "Wait'll Harry finds out," she concluded ominously. "He'll be furious."

Luna didn't argue, though she couldn't help thinking that Ginny – and Harry – needed to trust Dumbledore more. Sometimes the odd choice ended up the best.

By dinner, Luna was too anxious for midnight to arrive to do more than pick at her food. She kept glancing across the Great Hall at Neville, but he was oblivious to her stares as he talked animatedly with Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas. The more she considered it, the more Luna doubted her theory that Neville – or any admirer – had slipped her the note. Neville was brave, but he wasn't adventurous; she couldn't see him breaking curfew to steal a private moment with her. She couldn't see any boy at Hogwarts doing that, honestly.

Which made her wonder, as she finished an essay on the uses of dragon's blood for Professor Slughorn later in the Ravenclaw common room, if she would be walking into a trap. But that made no sense to her, either: Just as no boy she knew was likely to find her alluring enough to risk detention for, she could think of no reason why anybody in You-Know-Who's circle who would think her important enough to break into Hogwarts Castle for. She wasn't important; she wasn't even a member of the Order of the Phoenix, being underage. Sure, she was a friend of Harry's, but nowhere near his closest friend, not a likely target for someone trying to hurt him. All told, Luna was no threat to You-Know-Who.

The hours ticked by, and slowly the common room emptied, until at last Luna was left alone, staring sleepily out the huge windows into the cloudless, starry sky. In spite of herself, she felt her chin drift toward her chest. It had been a long day, and she hadn't slept much the night before thanks to the mysterious missive. She was weary. And since she had no idea how to slip unnoticed through the now-well-patrolled hallways at night, maybe it would be best to simply go to sleep and forget the whole thing…

Luna woke with a start when a loud _crack! _rent the stillness. Bolting upright from where she'd slumped over the small table still laden with her books and parchment, she was startled to discover a strangely-dressed house-elf hovering by her elbow.

"Dobby, isn't it?" Luna yawned. "Sorry, I fell asleep down here – "

"If Luna Lovegood will come with Dobby, he can take her to the Great Hall."

The elf spoke solemnly, but with an unmistakable air of urgency. Luna's heart sped up. Dobby was friends with Harry. She trusted him implicitly because of that. If he had been sent to fetch her, then whoever wanted to meet her and whatever they had to say was certainly important.

Luna did not see herself as brave. She recognized bravery in those around her, in Ron, Ginny, Neville, Hermione. But she would never have described herself that way. She certainly didn't see herself as driven by a larger destiny, as Harry and Dumbledore were. Yet Luna did understand the importance of what Harry had formed the D.A. to do. People might look askance at her father's theories, but Luna had grown up being told the story of The Boy Who Lived as a reminder, from both her parents, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not died that night – he had only disappeared. She had been raised to understand that one day, You-Know-Who might return. She had always believed that if a day came when even a simple person like herself had the chance to help defeat him once and for all, she would step forward.

Because defeating You-Know-Who was a cause worth fighting for.

So Luna smiled encouragingly at Dobby, who looked as small and uncertain as she often felt. "Of course I'll come," she said kindly. "Lead the way."

Dobby moved swiftly. Luna, who was lithe and graceful as a cat, kept pace with him easily through the dark hallways. Dobby somehow knew which route would be free of teachers; when they reached the Great Hall minutes later, the clock was just chiming midnight, and they had not encountered a soul. Luna's heart had lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat and was hammering away as Dobby pushed open the enormous doors – but the Great Hall, it seemed, was not the end of her journey. Dobby hurried along the empty House tables to the teacher's platform, then stepped through a small side door Luna had never noted before.

The door opened onto a pitch-black stone staircase. A rush of stale, cold air stung Luna's cheeks; she gamely plunged after Dobby into the darkness, yet soon became so disoriented that she stopped, feeling as if another step forward would send her toppling into a void.

Every frightening creature her father had ever described to her seemed to be waiting in that darkness. Instinctively, Luna drew out her wand and murmured, "_Lumos_."

She was indeed at the top of a steep staircase. In the instant her wand lit, Dobby also ignited a series of bracketed torches lining the stone wall by snapping his fingers in the air above his head. Luna shivered from the cold. She knew Hogwarts Castle was ancient; this staircase might have been carved from the very mountain around it. It seemed older, deeper, and darker than any other part of the castle she'd ever entered.

"Not far," Dobby whispered, beckoning to her. "Not far now. Dobby will lead you."

Luna swallowed her fear. She followed the little elf down, down, down, into what she imagined as the belly of Hogwarts. The deeper they descended, the more fervently she sought the courage to face whatever lay at the end of this strange road.

Still, she couldn't deny that beneath her mounting terror she felt an equally-growing excitement. Perhaps her mother's adventurous spirit was closer to her own than Luna had ever believed, or perhaps she'd grown accustomed to danger last year in the D.A. Whatever the reason, she realized she was more anxious than afraid to meet whomever had sent her on this odd midnight trek.

"Here." Dobby had moved to the side of the stairwell, which appeared to extend endlessly downward into blackness. He opened a small, round door that looked so much like the rough black stone around it Luna would never have seen it on her own.

"Aren't you going in?" Her voice sounded small and breathless.

"Dobby will wait outside."

Wand trembling, Luna reminded herself of why she had come this far – of her friends, sleeping peacefully above her, whose lives she valued more than her own. She reminded herself that by joining Dumbledore's Army she had made herself part of something bigger than her own fears.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched through the door – to find herself facing the enemy.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Draco had not intended to open negotiations with a fight, but the moment Luna crossed the threshold of the small, cave-like room, she had immediately pointed her wand at his heart. He had seen the jinx forming on her lips. Draco was no fool: Potter was an accomplished wizard, and since he had been Luna's teacher, Draco didn't fancy matching her in a duel.

Luna's reflexes were just a tad slow, no doubt a result of shock from discovering that Draco had summoned her here, and her wand sailed easily out of her hand to clatter against the far wall before she could utter a single defensive spell. At just that instant, the stone door behind her fell shut with a resounding _boom_, plunging the room into impenetrable darkness.

Which was why Draco didn't see her coming until her slender body collided solidly with his, knocking them both to the ground.

Winded, tears springing to his eyes as the air rushed out of his lungs, Draco nevertheless had the presence of mind to seize Luna's slim ankle before she could crawl away from him, headed for her wand. She aimed a kick at his head that glanced off his right cheek; Draco managed to hold on to her, ignoring the sharp, slicing pain. Hauling her toward him, he fell on top of her, using his weight to subdue her, and pinned her wrists to the floor above her head.

Luna twisted like a snake, nearly breaking free. Draco wondered dimly why she hadn't screamed for help, but he didn't take long to ponder – if Dobby thought Draco had tricked him into bringing Luna here, that he actually meant a friend of Harry Potter's some harm…Draco wasn't eager to have a vengeful house-elf on his hands in addition to this surprisingly feisty girl. So, managing to capture both of her wrists in one of his hands, Draco pressed the tip of his wand hard into Luna's throat.

She stilled as if frozen by a Body-Bind curse.

Draco could just make out her wide, terrified topaz eyes in the inky blackness. "I'm not going to hurt you," he rasped out, trying to regain his breath from smacking into the stone floor full-force. "Do you understand? I'm not going to hurt you."

Slowly, Luna nodded. Draco drew his wand-hand away slightly. "I just want to talk," he continued, his voice steadying. "I don't want to fight."

Luna nodded again, although her wary gaze conveyed her doubts. Draco struggled with the decision to release her; they were pressed so close together he could feel her heart hammering inside her chest, clearly conveying that her adrenaline rush had yet to subside. If she attacked again, would he be able to subdue her without an honest-to-goodness fight?

Luna's fingers twitched. "You're hurting my arms."

Instinctively, Draco released her wrists. He winced, expecting a blow, but instead of striking out, Luna just slid from underneath him, pushed herself into a sitting position, and massaged her wrists. She sat there calmly, eyeing him uncertainly from a short distance away.

"_Lumos_." Draco scooted back a little, too, to allow Luna some breathing room. In the blue wand-light, she appeared more fragile than her initial assault had suggested: Her fair skin was nearly translucent, clearly showing the bruises purpling around her wrists. He experienced an unexpected pang of remorse for that.

Luna pushed a few strands of tousled, honey-colored hair out of her eyes, the better to study him, Draco thought. Her unwavering gaze made him squirm. Somehow, in the quiet darkness, he found he had rather lost his nerve – though he had asked her to come, he didn't know where to begin.

At last, Luna prompted, "I'm listening."

All at once, Draco was terrified. His grand plan suddenly seemed nothing but a final, desperate lunge toward safety – a futile effort, given what (and who) he was facing.

What was he doing here, in the depths of Hogwarts Castle, with the strangest girl in school? How could he possibly put his trust in Loony Lovegood, who believed in Crumple-Horned Snorkaks and who knew what other nonsense?

Edgy, restless, Draco clambered to his feet and paced the short expanse of floor between the door and the back wall. He was keenly aware of Luna watching him, her legs curled beneath her, fingers absently twirling strands of her hair. He could sense her fear, and surprisingly, it calmed him.

_I have no choice, _he concluded for the thousandth time. _If I want out, this is the only chance I've got._

"You're bleeding."

Luna's soft observation, spoken so calmly, brought Draco up short. He swiped the back of his hand carelessly across his right cheek, which still smarted from her kick, and sure enough, it came back with a smear of blood along the knuckles.

"Are you all right?"

He didn't know why her concern irritated him – unless it was that he hated being reminded that she, like Potter, was a better person than he, a person who didn't enjoy causing her enemies pain. "I'm fine," he answered stiffly, then thought to cast his wand-light over her, checking her delicate features for further injuries. She had, after all, run into him full-force. "You?"

"I'm all right." Luna appeared unflappable, her face composed into an expression of polite curiosity, as if she was routinely lured to out-of-the-way venues for midnight rendezvous. Not for the first time, Draco thought – and not unkindly – what a mystery Luna Lovegood was.

She would have been shocked to learn that she had not escaped his notice, Draco was sure of that. Everyone disregarded _The Quibbler _as so much worthless prattle_, _of course. Draco had been prepared to dismiss the skinny little golden-haired girl as a nutcase like her father when he watched her be Sorted into Ravenclaw. But Draco had an eye for talent, a trait he'd picked up from his father, who had befriended many witches and wizards far more gifted than himself (and benefited quite a lot in the process). Behind the dreamy smiles and bizarre theories, he had spotted a keen intelligence and a steely courage. Those traits were why, of all Potter's many avid admirers and few trusted friends, Draco had chosen Luna for his accomplice.

That, and her uncanny ability to discern the truth. Draco doubted that Luna actually believed much of her father's drivel; he suspected that she preferred to keep an open mind, recognizing that the deepest magic often couldn't be learned from a book, and on top of that, she wanted to be loyal to her odd-ball father. He was counting on her to be open-minded enough to hear him out – and intuitive enough to know he wasn't deceiving her.

Entirely, anyway.

Plus, Potter trusted her. Always observant, Draco had noted for some time that, even more so than Granger or Weasley, Potter confided in this strange, beautiful, free-spirited girl. Once or twice, he had even wondered if there might be something more between them, though Potter seemed far too focused on his supposed destiny to have much success with girls. Still, if anyone could get Draco close to Potter, he had come to believe it would be Luna Lovegood.

Luna cleared her throat. Realizing that the silence was fast becoming awkward, Draco gritted his teeth. It was now or never.

"I want to help you stop Voldemort."

Luna couldn't have looked more astonished if he'd announced his desire to marry Hagrid. She recovered quickly, though, with a perfectly logical question: "Why?"

Why? Draco resumed pacing, scuffing the toe of his trainer along the floor. It was a fair question. Until this spring, he'd been perfectly content to enjoy the benefits of his pureblood status and his family's well-known association with the dark arts. No one messed with the Malfoys, not when Lucius and his sister-in-law Bellatrix were known to have been members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. The fact that Lucius had never served an hour in Azkaban for his crimes had convinced people that the Malfoys were untouchable. At Hogwarts, at the Ministry, in every echelon of power, their pure blood had given them the taint of aristocracy, had gained them entrance to all the best clubs, access to all the right people. For sixteen years, Draco had never given a moment's thought to what stood behind his wealth and privilege.

Until he'd come face to face with Lord Voldemort, that was. Until he'd been ordered to kill or be killed. Until he'd been forced to admit to himself that the pureblood obsession of wizards like Lord Voldemort was idiotic in the extreme, a prejudice he, Draco, didn't share deep down. Those were just ideas he had parroted. He had never considered that they might constitute a cause people would die for; he had certainly never expected to be called upon to fight for those ideals, to serve a terrifying, cruel master, a man who tortured and killed without remorse or guilt.

Draco understood Luna's question better perhaps than even she did, but he wasn't prepared to open his soul to her – or to anyone, for that matter. So he offered a plausible version of the truth that he hoped would be enough to win her over.

"Why?" he challenged dryly, coming to a stop so he could look down on where she sat. He took care to meet and hold her level gaze. "You might've noticed how miserably my father failed at the Ministry. "Trust me, Voldemort has no patience for failure."

"So you're afraid of him?" Luna demanded, with perfect frankness.

Draco snorted. "Of course I'm afraid of him. Anybody with any sense at all is afraid of him." His bravado faltered as he sensed that she needed more, that she was too clever to be passed off so easily. Looking away, he offered tersely, "Look, things are different now, since-since He came back. My father's locked up in Azkaban. My mum has barely left her bedroom since they hauled him off. I think," he drew in a shaky breath, coming to it at last, the reason he had summoned her here, "I think the only way to help them is to stop what Voldemort's planning to do."

A flicker of sympathy shown in Luna's eyes, but still she hesitated. "I don't know how to stop You-Know-Who," she offered simply. "You should be talking to Harry."

Draco barked out a sharp, mirthless laugh. "Talk to Harry? And you think he'd listen to me? Just decide to put the last six years behind us and be best mates?"

Sublimely unperturbed by his heavy sarcasm, Luna rejoined smoothly, "Harry's a very fair person. He'll listen to you."

"He might," Draco agreed, hoping she couldn't hear the strain in his voice as he finally arrived at the heart of his purpose for their meeting. "_If_ I could prove to him that I mean what I'm saying. That I know what Voldemort's planning to do, or at least some of it, and that I can help him stop it. That it's not a trick."

Luna considered this, and as she did, Draco could see her putting together why he had come to her, not Harry. She fixed him with an unflinching stare, daring him to lie. "You want me to see what you're going to do to stop You-Know-Who, so I can vouch for you to Harry."

Draco was not disappointed in his choice of accomplice – she'd caught on far more quickly than he'd expected. He nodded.

Luna suddenly looked troubled. "How do I know you're not tricking _me_?" she demanded.

In response, Draco knelt, scooped her wand off the floor, and tossed it to her. She caught it easily, if with a measure of surprise that he trusted her not to attack him now.

"Because," he answered with perfect honesty, "I think you'd be a very difficult person to fool."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Next Step**

The very next morning, Draco put Step Two of his plan into action. Recruiting Luna to be his accomplice had gone exactly to plan – in all the ways that mattered, that was, he reminded himself as he trudged down to breakfast between Crabbe and Goyle. The opening hostilities had been inevitable, really, but at least neither of them had gotten hurt, which would have defeated the point of the meeting. And even though Luna still harbored serious doubts about his honesty, that was what Step Two was all about – convincing her that he meant business, so she would convince Potter to trust him.

As he entered the Great Hall, Draco found himself scanning the crowd of grumpy, early-morning students for a pair of sparkling blue eyes, a serene smile, and a cloud of honey-blonde hair. Once he realized what he was doing, though, he deliberately directed his attention away from the Ravenclaw table (where Luna had not yet appeared). Step One had gone off perfectly. He wasn't going to unnecessarily complicate Step Two (and all the steps to follow) by developing some sort of attachment to his accomplice.

It wasn't like they were friends, or ever would be.

Draco halfway listened to the chatter around him. As ever, Pansy Parkinson appeared at his elbow and stared up adoringly at him. Draco grated a smile he didn't feel in her direction, relieved when she joined in Crabbe and Goyle's conversation. The two of them had barely scraped together enough OWLs to remain in Hogwarts, and although they were taking the most numbskull classes, like Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, they still complained of being overwhelmed. Draco, was who taking every advanced class available (and whose scores, Professor Snape had commented the day before with ill-concealed surprise, had been the highest in Slytherin House), would normally have dropped some scathing comment about the complexity of Professor Trelawney's so-called homework, but with his mind full of schemes for Step Two, he didn't even bother to tell his friends off. He just tuned them out and let his mind wander…

The day after Lord Voldemort had recruited Draco for the impossible mission of murdering Hogwarts' Headmaster – a task Draco knew he was meant to fail at, to the ruin of himself and his parents – Draco had decided to put his considerable skills to work saving his life (and his parents' lives). As his OWLs proved, Draco was smart, but he had more than the bookish intelligence of Hermione Granger: He was canny. Smart enough to recognize his limits as a wizard and not to push those (when he could avoid it). Smart enough to surround himself with capable allies because he knew he couldn't defeat his enemies alone. Smart enough to enlist Aunt Bella in his plan without giving away his true intentions. Smart enough to select an accomplice Potter would trust, even over the protests Draco knew Granger and Weasley – and probably everyone else in Potter's do-gooder, save-the-world set – would raise.

Therein lay Draco's real gift: He understood people. He had always been an observant boy, one who didn't just _see – _he _looked_ at people, tried to get inside their heads, as it were. Convincing Potter that he had switched sides would be no easy task, because Potter, Draco had observed, quite conveniently split the world into black and white, evil and good. He, Draco, fell solidly in the "evil" camp so far as Potter was concerned. To protect himself and his parents, Draco couldn't openly disavow Lord Voldemort's mission, thereby casting off the traits that caused Potter to despise him.

So Draco had to attempt something far more dangerous – and he had to bring Luna along for the ride, as his witness. He had determined within hours of the Dark Lord's "request" that the only way to save himself was to bring Lord Voldemort down, and the person most likely to do that was Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Yet the only way Draco could see to ally himself with Potter was to strike a heavy blow against the Dark Lord – a blow the most accomplished Legilimens in the history of the wizarding world would not suspect came from Draco, while still a blow that would impress Potter.

Draco had mulled over what form that blow should take for weeks. He was limited, obviously, by his abilities as an underage wizard; even with Aunt Bella's training, Draco knew he wasn't a match for half the people in Lord Voldemort's entourage, certainly no one in the inner circle. What could he do to the Death Eaters that Potter would find sufficiently courageous, to convince him Draco Malfoy was no longer his mortal enemy – without getting Draco killed or exposing his plot in the process? Draco's thoughts had immediately turned to Aunt Bella. After all, she'd murdered Potter's godfather; Draco was certain even Dumbledore's golden boy wanted revenge for that. But Draco wasn't foolish enough to attack his aunt. Her loyalty was only to the Dark Lord. If she scented treachery in Draco, she'd kill him in a heartbeat – and he knew he wasn't powerful enough to stop her on his own.

Continuing in the same vein, Draco had for a few days toyed with the idea of delivering up the corpse of Peter Pettigrew, the rat-like little man who had handed Potter's parents over to their greatest enemy. There again he ran into problems, though, since Pettigrew – who wasn't a match for Draco in his own right (he wouldn't have been a match even for a Squib like Filch, really) – rarely left his master's side. Draco was sincerely hoping not to encounter the Dark Lord again until he'd become much more skilled at Occlumency (something he was practicing every night) so that he could not only make his mind blank, which he'd already perfected, but also could control whatever emotions might betray his real intentions, laying his betrayal bare.

Draco had almost convinced himself that he could find some way to separate Pettigrew from his master when it occurred to him that Potter would likely pity the disgusting little coward too much to take pleasure in his murder. Thinking about Potter's rather stomach-turning goodness, Draco had finally touched on an acceptable target for his attack. Because he knew, from years of watching closely, that what Potter most desperately wanted was not revenge: It was to stop Voldemort.

If Draco could take down a truly dangerous element of the Dark Lord's army, and if Luna was there to see it, he just might succeed in winning Potter over.

So Draco had selected his target and had spent much of the summer preparing for this first, all-important offensive. But Step Two wasn't just about going after his target. He still had a lot of preparations to make, and unfortunate though it was, those preparations started with earning himself a detention.

When Luna woke the next morning, she wasn't entirely sure if she could trust her memories. Had she dreamed the whole midnight encounter with Draco Malfoy? The bruises faintly circling her wrists served as some evidence; tracing them with her fingertips as she absent-mindedly pulled on her robes, she remembered with a small shiver the ferocity in his ice-blue eyes as he'd paced the floor, asking for her help and loathing that he needed it. She suspected Draco would hate needing anyone's help, but she knew he hated needing Harry's most of all.

And why had he come to her, as if she had some influence over Harry? That was the part Luna couldn't quite figure out. In fact, she had almost talked herself out of believing the meeting had really happened, bruises or not, when she stepped from the Great Hall after breakfast, her thoughts a million miles away from school, and her gaze crashed into Draco's.

He was standing on the grand staircase a half-dozen steps above her, his long, slender fingers resting lightly on the banister as he stared down, his eyes finding her with seemingly no effort even in the throng of students hurrying toward their first classes. In that instant, everything he'd told her the night before was undoubtedly real; Luna knew it had happened, and she knew, though it set her heart to hammering, that much more was soon to happen.

Draco inclined his sleek blonde head toward her ever-so-slightly. Luna managed a curt nod in response. Then he was moving off with his friends, those awful thugs Crabbe and Goyle and that horribly clingy Pansy Parkinson, leaving her trembling from the force of their momentary, silent encounter.

He was serious about this, that much she could tell. Whether or not he meant to deceive her was another matter, of course. If she went along with him and he was lying…Hurrying off to Ancient Runes with Ginny beside her, chattering away about her boyfriend Dean Thomas' latest annoying habit, Luna consoled herself with the knowledge that she wasn't important enough for Draco to go through all this trouble just to have her expelled. If he was lying, he had to believe she wouldn't see him through him – he had to be using her to get close to Harry, and Luna would never let that happen. If she realized he wasn't telling the truth, she would…

_Well? _a small, rather smug-sounding voice demanded from deep inside her. _What will you do? How far would you go to protect yourself – how badly would you hurt him?_

"Luna?"

Snapping back to reality, Luna realized she'd walked straight past the classroom. Ginny was calling to her from the doorway, puzzled. Luna offered up her best dreamy smile. "Sorry," she breathed, in a passing imitation of her usual serenity. "I was thinking about...something else."

Ginny didn't ask for explanations, either because class was starting or because (as Luna suspected was the case) she was afraid the explanation might involve Nargles.

The day crawled by. Luckily, Luna's teachers were all accustomed to her daydreaming; her classmates hardly snickered when Professor Flitwick had to shout at her to watch what she was doing – she'd been zooming lighted candles all over the room with the Hover Charm she'd already perfected during DA meetings. Even supper, which Luna usually enjoyed, seemed endless.

But at last, the moment of truth arrived. Luna had lingered over her pudding until the Great Hall was close to empty, as she'd been instructed the night before. The last stragglers were now heading toward the staircases, reluctant to dive into the piles of homework that awaited them. Luna hung back, almost painfully aware of Professor McGonagall standing just inside the doorway, the only teacher left in the room, as always –

"Hey, Loony!" The sneering, velvet voice made Luna wince even though she knew it was coming. She spun around, her fingers reflexively clenching around her wand.

Draco was standing a foot behind her, handsome and imperious, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, Parksinson, and a handful of other sniggering Slytherin sixth-years whose names Luna didn't know.

He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with cold disdain. "I hear that rag your father puts out has been supporting Potter."

Luna didn't respond. She could feel the back of her neck burning as students hesitated in the doorway, scenting a fight. She was glad Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and her other friends in the DA were already gone, or she was sure a real fight would already be erupting.

"Well, since you seem to be on such close terms with him, would you mind giving a message to 'The Chosen One' for me?"

Luna surprised herself by speaking clearly, fearlessly. "About what?"

Draco's eyes flashed – with what, Luna couldn't tell exactly, though she had a wild thought that it was a warning, a warning to remember what he was about to do so she could brace herself –

His words, however, were laced with malice. "About what happens to anyone who opposes the Dark Lord."

With that, Draco slashed his wand toward her. Luna did exactly as he'd instructed: She remained perfectly still, her eyes wide open, as the curse winged toward her.

_"Sectumsempra_!"

The pain slashed across Luna's right arm, yet she knew at once he hadn't hurt her badly. Nevertheless, the spell seemed to electrify the air. The students lingering beside the door gasped in shocked horror; Professor McGonagall charged through them, her face bone-white with fury.

"Draco Malfoy, what is the meaning of this?" she shrieked, grabbing Luna's arm. She muttered a spell that instantly staunched the free flow of blood from a deep gash across Luna's forearm.

Draco's cold blue eyes found Luna's. She saw something akin to an apology there, but also a silent plea for her to play her part. His words from the night before echoed in her mind: _"It has to be something bad enough to land us in detention for at least a couple of weeks, not just another fight…"_

"I'm all right, Professor." Luna spoke brightly, as much for Draco's benefit as the teacher's – she wanted him to know she wasn't hurt all that much. The wound barely stung, in fact.

Though her face was still clouded with rage, McGonagall turned a kind gaze toward her. "Are you sure, dear? That was a deep cut."

Luna glanced down at the pink, puckered skin of her forearm. "Maybe I'd best go to the hospital wing," she suggested.

"I think that would be wise." McGonagall steered her lightly toward the doors, looking back over her shoulder at Draco, who hadn't moved a muscle. "You run along, dear, while I talk to Mr. Malfoy about using spells his aunt Bellatrix sees fit to teach him."

Luna took two steps away from McGonagall, whose attention immediately returned to Draco and his smirking crowd of admirers. Luna aimed her wand directly at Draco, who seemed oblivious to her as he laughed with his friends, and called in a ringing voice, "_Petrificus totalis_!"

Immediately, Draco fell to the floor, his limbs rigid. The Slytherins behind him growled; Crabbe and Goyle lifted their wands, but McGonagall shouted for order, and that, for the moment, stilled them. Casting a scorching glare over her shoulder at Luna, McGonagall released Draco from the Body-Bind curse with a flick of her wand.

"Now, that's quite enough," McGongall began. But Draco leapt to his feet, ignoring her calls for him to lower his wand, and aimed a Leg-Locking jinx at Luna, who (because she was expecting it) danced easily to the side.

"Stop this at once!" McGonagall cried. She was positioned between Draco and Luna, both of whom were now casting jinxes at one another that, though narrowly missing, were not missing the other students. Those nearest the door, mostly Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, ran screaming toward the staircases; the Slytherins, however, were trapped behind Draco, and Luna felt a thrill of satisfaction as her spells hit everyone except Draco. The big bully Crabbe went down to a Body-Bind curse, and the sniveling Pansy Parkinson narrowly escaped a stunning spell that ricocheted off a suit of armor and sent a nameless sixth-year thug sprawling. All the while, Luna was effortlessly sidestepping Draco's curses, just as they'd choreographed the night before in that small, cave-like room.

It was, she had to admit, almost fun.

The duel seemed to be happening at a blinding rate of speed, yet McGonagall stood in shocked silence for less than half a minute before roaring, "Enough!" Her furious yell was followed by a wave of her wand; had she been a moment sooner – and had Luna not been watching for exactly this instant, as Draco also seemed to be – they would have been disarmed easily.

As it was, in the same moment Draco and Luna spun their wands on the Head of Gryffindor House, whose mouth flopped open in astonishment, and shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Professor McGonagall hit the floor with a dull thud. Her wand rolled across the stone floor to rest against the toe of Draco's trainer.

Luna's heart fluttered, hesitated, and then began to pound. Oh, she'd done it now – used magic against a teacher. Tears sprang to her eyes, the excitement of a moment before leaving her in a dizzying rush. Her wand fell limply to her side. It had all been part of the plan, of course, but suddenly, gazing down at Professor McGonagall's stunned expression, where the combined force of their spells had knocked her off her feet, Luna was no longer convinced by Draco's assurances that they wouldn't be expelled for disarming a professor.

McGonagall recovered quickly, evidence, Luna sincerely hoped, that they hadn't injured with the simultaneous spells or her unintended fall. Around them, the Great Hall was absolutely silent. Whatever the Slytherins who had remained to watch Draco tormenting Luna thought of Minerva McGonagall, not one of them was brave enough to so much as crack a smile while she climbed carefully to her feet and fixed her attackers with a terrifying glare.

Luna could all but hear her frantic heartbeat in the stillness. She hadn't been so frightened since the night in the Department of Mysteries when the Death Eaters had fell upon them – and at least then she'd known she was on the right side…

She couldn't bring herself to look at Draco as she knelt to pick up Professor McGonagall's wand with nerveless fingers. The hem of his robe brushed the top of her head as she straightened back up and silently extended the wand to McGonagall, who snatched it away from her wordlessly. Draco didn't _feel _frightened, Luna noted; in fact, she could sense the unwavering arrogance she'd only ever seen slip the night before rolling off of him in waves. She could just picture the superior gleam in his ice-blue eyes, even as he kept his face perfectly neutral, not inviting more trouble than they were already in.

In spite of herself, Luna admired his self-assurance.

"Headmaster's office," Professor McGonagall barked, her eyes snapping. "Now."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Petty Crimes

Luna's knees were quaking so badly she almost couldn't negotiate the winding stone steps to Professor Dumbledore's office. Professor McGonagall marched behind her; Draco kept pace with Luna, but they never looked at one another.

She wondered what he was thinking. If he was half as terrified as she was.

The Headmster's office was empty aside from a beautiful phoenix sleeping on a golden perch behind the cluttered desk. "Wait here," McGonagall ordered them icily.

As soon as the door fell shut behind her, Draco grasped Luna's elbow, steered her to a chair beside the windows, and pushed her lightly into it. "Sit," he commanded gruffly. "Before you faint."

Luna's head was swimming, though not so much that she didn't react to his abruptness. "Is this what you wanted?" Her voice sounded rather shrill, either from anger or hysteria, she couldn't be sure. "To get us expelled?"

"I told you, we had to make an impression." Draco lounged against the far wall, crossing his lean arms over his chest. His handsome face was utterly relaxed, completely unperturbed by their predicament – or Luna's ire. "We need into McGonagall's office, first of all, and then we need…time."

He grinned as though he'd said something terribly clever. Luna, for her part, was feeling more foolish by the second for being drawn into this ploy. How could she have allowed herself to believe that Draco Malfoy wanted to help Harry? Was she was gullible as everyone whispered behind her back? Was that why he had chosen her – because he'd known she was enough of an idiot to give him a chance?

Draco seemed to read her thoughts. He frowned and moved toward her. "Listen," he began, his voice smooth, "the plan hasn't changed. Trust me, Dumbledore won't – "

Footsteps on the other side of the door silenced him. His eyes locked on Luna's, Draco suddenly hurried forward, caught her by the shoulders, and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Just trust me."

Luna was thankful to be sitting down, because she was all at once incredibly light-headed.

Draco stepped quickly back from her, positioning himself so that he stood languidly in front of the Headmaster's desk, facing away from the door. Luna remained seated, feeling dizzy from nerves and other emotions she couldn't exactly place, as McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and, finally, Dumbledore filed in.

Everyone but Dumbledore was scowling, but the Headmaster appeared almost amused.

The teachers assembled behind Draco while Dumbledore settled at his desk. Trembling, Luna pushed herself to her feet – it felt rude to sit without being asked – and stood timidly beside Draco, whose eyes were fixed on the Headmaster. He looked cold and impassive, she noted in a sidelong glance, revealing none of the feelings behind the impassioned plea he'd just made for her trust.

Could she do this? Could she trust him? Or should she simply out with the truth, throw herself at the Headmaster's mercy?

Dumbledore surveyed them kindly down his long, crooked nose. "Miss Lovegood, I understand you were injured. Are you all right?"

Actually, her injured arm was barely stinging now, but as Dumbledore made his inquiry, the sleeve of his robe fell back, revealing his blackened hand. Luna instinctively pulled her own arm closer to her body. She'd hardly noticed the injury that had set the school to whispering the night before; she'd been too absorbed in wondering who her mystery messenger could be.

Noting her reaction, Dumbledore frowned. "You look pale. Would you like to go to the hospital wing?"

"I'm fine," Luna managed. Her voice even sounded pale, and Luna suddenly wondered if she shouldn't play up her injury in the hopes of being shown leniency…

_You did this, _her conscience piped up. _You went along with his plan. Now face the music._

Dumbledore looked from her to Draco as if measuring the situation. Luna wished she could feel less exposed, but Dumbledore's piercing gaze seemed to penetrate right to her core. Perhaps even Draco felt it, because he stiffened slightly.

"I am told," Dumbledore began evenly, "that the two of you engaged in a duel this evening in the Great Hall, and that when Professor McGonagall intervened, you disarmed her." Neither Draco nor Luna contradicted this, so he continued. "I'm sure you both know that dueling between students is expressly forbidden, for very good reasons. Who started this?"

"I did," Draco answered after a beat, when Luna remained silent.

"And Miss Lovegood, you retaliated?"

Luna nodded mutely. She could offer no explanation for her behavior that didn't betray Draco's secret, and much as it amazed her, she found herself unwilling to do that.

_Just trust me. _It was surprisingly easy to do. Either she had tremendous instincts or she was a complete fool, Luna decided.

Snape cleared his throat and asked in his silky voice, "If I may, Headmaster?" Dumbledore waved his permission. "This is Draco's first serious offense. He is, in many ways, an exemplary student. I don't mean to suggest he not be punished, of course, but I think, perhaps, a second chance may be in order?"

Professor Flitwick put in quickly, "The same could be said of Luna, Headmaster. And given her service to the Ministry last year, if second chances are in order, I believe she deserves one."

Luna felt a tiny spark of hope. Dumbledore looked to McGonagall. "Well, Minerva?"

A heavy sigh issued from Professor McGonagall, yet she no longer sounded furious. "I think it was temper," she admitted, glancing at Luna's injured arm. "I don't think it was meant to go so far." Her disdainful glance at Draco indicated that her words applied only to Luna, but since they had acted as a pair, Luna knew her punishment couldn't be less severe than his.

She suppressed the urge to throw her arms around McGonagall's neck and hug her tightly.

"Very well." Dumbledore pinned Draco and Luna with his piercing blue stare, all vestiges of kindly grandfatherness disappearing. "You will be allowed to remain at Hogwarts with the understanding that nothing of this sort is ever to happen again. Is that clear?"

Luna nodded vigorously. For his part, Draco shrugged. A sideways glance showed Luna his insolent glower; she fought the desire to kick his ankle.

Dumbledore was apparently unmoved by Draco's rudeness. "And you will serve detention with Professor McGonagall every Saturday for the next two months, doing whatever task she sees fit."

Luna's heart jumped. The plan had worked! She kept her eyes focused carefully on the floor, murmuring, "Thank you, Professors," and trying to assuage her guilty conscience that at least some good might come out of her misbehavior.

They were ordered back to their individual common rooms then. The teachers stayed behind. Draco and Luna descended the stairs in silence, but at the bottom, before he turned toward the Slytherin dorms, Draco flashed Luna a thousand-watt grin that sent her heart to hammering once more.

"You were brilliant," he whispered. "See you Saturday."

Dumbledore closed the door to his office quietly behind McGonagall and Flitwick. Snape still stood stiffly facing the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore calmly walked around to take his seat there, his blue eyes twinkling under Snape's grim stare.

"You seem unconcerned by this turn of events," Snape observed, his tone laced with disapproval.

"My dear Severus, if I believed, as you do, that Draco Malfoy was recruiting students to assist in my murder, then I most assuredly would not be unconcerned," Dumbledore responded kindly. Behind him, Fawkes the Phoenix whistled softly, as if agreeing with his master's estimation of the situation.

"You know Draco has agreed to kill you. What possible reason could he have for summoning the Lovegood girl to a midnight meeting and then involving her in this bit of dangerous mischief if not to make her his accomplice?"

Dumbledore smiled at his former Potions master's exasperation. "I will tell you what I told the house-elf Dobby when he spoke to me of Draco's request to bring Miss Lovegood to the dungeons: I don't believe Draco Malfoy has any intention of trying to kill me. The boy is not a murderer."

"His father – "

"Is not the son," Dumbledore put in patiently, adding after a beat, "A mistake you frequently make, my friend."

Snape sniffed at the not-so-veiled reference to his enmity with Harry Potter, James Potter's son. "So what do you propose Draco's motivation might be, then? Loneliness? A burning desire to learn more about Nargles?"

"I believe," Dumbledore answered slowly, as if he were still working the answer out for himself, "that Voldemort has in this instance made a serious miscalculation."

Waving his hand dismissively, Snape countered, "He doesn't mean for the boy to kill you. He knows Draco can't do that. No wizard likely could – without your permission," Snape added sourly.

Dumbledore ignored that last remark, shrugging the sleeve of his robe over his blackened fingers. "I'm not referring to Draco's abilities. I mean his spirit. Voldemort apparently believes Draco is so terrified of the retribution he would face for failing in this task that he would never dream of doing anything besides trying with all his might – and his talent is not inconsiderable, Severus – to carry out Voldemort's command. You said yourself that Voldemort did not make Draco a Death Eater."

Clearly unconvinced, Snape retorted, "Draco is a boy, unproven and therefore unworthy of the Dark Mark."

"Ah, but the Mark is not only a badge of honor, Severus, as you well know," Dumbledore reminded his friend.

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Snape's severe features. The Headmaster grinned to see it. "The Mark would give Voldemort a hold over Draco's mind and thoughts," Dumbledore pressed, "greater even that he can already achieve. If it had ever occurred to Voldemort that Draco might betray him, might save me in the hopes that I could in turn save his family and his own life…"

"Then the Dark Lord would have given him the Mark, to better control him," Snape supplied. He obviously understood the older wizard's thinking now, yet still he frowned. "I don't see how Luna Lovegood could be much use to Draco in such a desperate ruse."

"Don't you?"

"She's rather remarkable, of course," Snape admitted. "More like her mother than her idiot father, fortunately, but still – " Snape stopped short, as if realizing the foolishness of his confusion. His face twisted into a grimace of dislike. "She's friends with Potter."

"And Harry is the one person who stands a chance of defeating Voldemort." Dumbledore beamed, pleased that Snape had figured out the complicated scheme at last, but moments later his face fell. He looked old and weary, and Snape's frown deepened with concern.

"You'll have to help him, Severus, as much as you can."

"I've already sworn to help him kill you." Snape spoke bitterly, his gaze holding Dumbledore's unflinchingly. "Isn't that enough?"

"If Draco means to stand against Voldemort, he will be in much greater danger than he is now," Dumbledore insisted. He rose from his chair and went to stand beside the windows looking out over the dark Hogwarts grounds. "You know the path he has started down better than anyone. You know the courage and the skill it takes to deceive Voldemort. You have to help Draco do what you have done so well all these years."

Snape gasped, plainly aghast at Dumbledore's suggestion. "Headmaster, he's only a boy. You can't mean for him to become a spy?"

Dumbledore shrugged, facing the bank of windows. "I could spirit him away, I suppose, send him and his mother into hiding."

Glowering, Snape challenged, "But he wouldn't be of any use to you in hiding, would he?"

"No one will be of much 'use' to me for very long, Severus," Dumbledore chided his old friend softly, bringing a blush to Snape's pale cheeks. "Don't mistake me. I would protect them both, if I could…"

"Both?" Snape echoed, confused.

But Dumbledore waved his good hand, suggesting he had said enough – maybe too much – for one night. "Just do as I ask, Severus, and help Draco Malfoy become friends with Harry Potter."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Unforeseen Consequences

The next morning, Luna was surrounded by Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and a half-dozen other D.A. members at the breakfast table, all demanding to know if she was all right.

"He cursed you? In front of a teacher?" Hermione stared incredulously across the Great Hall at Draco, who smirked at the Ravenclaw table with such self-satisfaction that Ginny hissed like a cat and had to be restrained by Seamus.

Luna shrugged. Her usual air of serenity was somewhat harder to manage this morning after a night of tossing and turning, wondering how she would possibly lie to all of her friends the next day. This was one consequence of joining forces with Draco Malfoy she hadn't foreseen – the need to deceive her friends until Draco decided the time was right for them to approach Harry about their alliance.

For her first few years at Hogwarts, Luna hadn't considered any of her classmates friends. Most people made fun of her because of her father's magazine and her own oddities; even those who were kind to her didn't really befriend her, the way other girls her age had friends. The D.A. had changed all that, and now, Luna felt like a traitorous fool for not telling her friends what Draco had asked her to do.

Why in the world was she putting a boy who had never shown himself to be anything besides a dark wizard-in-the-making above people she loved and trusted?

Harry was the most difficult to lie to, not only because Luna respected him so much but because he was, as usual, the most concerned for her. Settling on the bench beside her, his green eyes unfailingly kind, he gently placed a fingertip on top of the raw pink scar running along her forearm. "Malfoy's curse did that?"

Luna nodded. She dropped her gaze to her untouched toast. Behind them, Ron muttered, "I can think of you a few places to curse Malfoy where it doesn't grow back so easily."

Neville and Seamus snorted. Hermione blushed.

"I'm all right." Luna was losing count of how often she'd repeated that already. "I shouldn't have lost my temper with Professor McGonagall, though. I do feel badly about it," she insisted, glad to have something she could be honest about.

Ron laughed. "That's something I'd dearly have loved to see – McGonagall knocked flat-out by two students."

"Ron," Hermione snapped, "it's not funny. Luna's lucky she wasn't expelled."

"Two months' detention is pretty steep, considering Malfoy started it," Neville put in, offended on Luna's behalf. His loyalty only made Luna feel more guilty; for once, she wished everyone would stop being so nice. "Dumbledore should have expelled _him _for attacking Luna first."

The first students were leaving the Hall for class, and Luna suddenly felt she couldn't take another moment of the deception. "I should be off," she said, standing quickly. Seeing her friends' puzzled expressions, she went on, making a mostly-successful effort at her usual light-hearted brightness, "Lots of studying to do now that my Saturdays are taken up with detention."

Harry fell into step beside her as they left the Great Hall. Luna was fairly squirming. Did he suspect something? Was he maneuvering her off on her own to ask what was really going on? What if he called her on the lie – would she be able to defend her actions to Harry, hands down the most noble and courageous wizard she'd ever met, aside from Professor Dumbledore?

But Harry wasn't hanging around to interrogate her. Instead, Luna realized, he was protecting her. He escorted her to the doorway of her first class, calmly accepting of her silence the whole way there. Once outside the Potions classroom, he declared, "I won't let Malfoy hurt you, Luna, not because of me."

Luna winced. She knew Draco's best excuse for attacking her was her friendship with Harry, yet she hated that Harry now felt responsible for her being bullied. She offered him her brightest smile. "Don't worry about me, Harry. No one's going to hurt me."

Harry's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. "Not while I'm around," he agreed.

At just that moment, Draco rounded the corner, flanked (as always) by Crabbe and Goyle. Luna saw him over Harry's shoulder and her heart caught in her throat: The expression on Draco's handsome face as he took in her and Harry standing together was absolutely murderous.

"What is it?" Harry spun around, alarmed by Luna's suddenly wide-eyed expression. Following her gaze, he moved immediately toward Draco, fists clenched at his sides.

"No, Harry," Luna started, reaching for his arm.

But Harry shrugged her off. "Something you'd like to say to me, Malfoy?" The fury in his voice matched the loathing in Draco's eyes.

Before Draco could respond, Professor Slughorn stepped into the hallway. Luna suspected he'd been watching her and Harry from the front of the classroom; he was keen on knowing everything Harry did, so far as Luna could tell. Little though she liked the self-important Potions master, Luna had to admit she was glad to see him – she doubted her protests would have been enough to keep Harry and Draco from dueling right then and there, given the level of malice that suddenly filled the corridor.

"Now, now, boys," Slughorn boomed, placing himself pointedly between Harry and Draco, who continued glaring daggers at one another. "We don't want any trouble here, do we? Not even over such a pretty girl." He winked at Luna.

Luna's heart was hammering again, for fear that Harry and Draco would fight anyway – and it would be all her fault if either of them was hurt. Slughorn's words took a moment to penetrate her fear-clouded mind. Once they did, she felt a twinge of something unfamiliar deep inside.

Something Luna associated with beautiful girls like Fleur Delacour, not with plain, simple girls like herself.

Draco was backing away, though his expression remained fierce. He arched a blonde eyebrow at Slughorn. "Like I'd be jealous over _that_," he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, who snickered toward Luna.

The something vanished in an instant. Luna let out a small gasp, caught off-guard by the pain of Draco's insult.

_This is why you don't put yourself out there for people to hurt, _a familiar little voice from deep inside Luna's heart reminded her. _You're not that pretty; you're not that special. It's no good thinking people care about you, especially not the most good-looking and popular boys in school._

Slughorn was physically steering Harry down the hallway, away from Draco's retreating form. "Are you all right?" Harry demanded of Luna over the professor's shoulder.

Luna smoothed her features into a pleasantly blank mask. "Of course I am," she answered lightly. "You don't have to worry so much, Harry."

"See you after class," Harry responded, letting her know that she wouldn't be without his protective presence for the rest of the day.

Luna dropped into a seat near the door as Slughorn, having seen Harry safely off, strode in to begin the day's lesson. She found it even more difficult than usual to concentrate on the potions they were supposed to be brewing – anecdotes for different types of poison, quite interesting really, except Luna's thoughts were occupied by bigger concerns.

It wasn't that she wanted Draco to be jealous, or that she even believed he would be, regardless of her fleeting fantasy that she was beautiful enough to inspire such devotion. For starters, nothing romantic was going on between her and Harry; Luna liked Harry as a friend, and if he had any special feeling for her, she knew it ran along those same lines. She also wasn't silly enough to think that a wealthy pureblood like Draco Malfoy would ever look twice at the daughter of the man who published _The Quibbler. _Luna's family wasn't nearly rich, important, or glamorous enough for the Malfoys.

Anyway, she didn't think of Draco that way, regardless of the back-flips her heart sometimes sprinted into when he was around. She wasn't stupid. She wouldn't fall for a boy like Draco Malfoy, someone not only out of her league but quite possibly opposed to everything she believed in.

And that really was what had Luna so upset. Draco's calculated insult had caused her to question the better qualities she thought she'd seen in him since their midnight meeting. In that instant, posing for his horrid friends, he had seemed just as cruel as she'd always believed him to be. Now that she had lied to her friends, now that she had pretended to duel with Draco and had allowed everyone – including Harry and Dumbledore – to believe a fictional account of their fight, she couldn't simply go back to how things had been before she'd involved herself with Draco.

If he turned out to be less than what she'd convinced herself he could be, where was Luna supposed to turn?

The wounded look in Luna's eyes plagued Draco for the rest of his first week back.

For her to drop her gaze whenever they passed in the hallways, to surround herself with friends at every meal and during every free period so he had no chance of getting her alone, meant earning her trust had taken two steps back. Draco cursed himself for such a lapse in judgment. He knew stinging a girl's pride was no way to win her friendship – even if the girl was a little cuckoo, like Luna, she was still a girl. Suggesting she wasn't pretty or interesting enough to be fought over was a sure-fire way to make an enemy out of her.

What was worse, Draco knew he had insulted Luna just to cover his own embarrassment. He should have looked Slughorn straight in the eye and told him he would never be jealous of a brown-nosing git, Chosen One or not. But when Draco had turned that corner to find Potter hovering so protectively over Luna, he had momentarily lost his trademark cool aplomb. Who did Potter think he was, anyway, Luna's knight in shining armor as well as the savior of all wizarding kind? And what was more, why did Luna look so guilt-ridden, like keeping a secret from Potter was eating her alive?

With time to reflect, of course, Draco had recognized his own foolishness in not preparing for Potter and Luna to react exactly as they had. Potter would, because he was Potter, blame himself for Luna being injured in a run-in with his supposed nemesis, and would therefore feel the need to shield her from any further harm; Luna, because she was Luna, would hate lying to her friends so much it would cause her actual physical pain. None of that had been clear when confronted with Luna's sad sapphire gaze, however. And then that ass Slughorn had started bleating on about Draco being jealous of Potter…

For the hundredth time in two days, Draco mentally kicked himself for proving such an easy target. He could not allow any further lapses in self-control. He could not afford to lose Luna as his ally. Even if he found her snogging Potter, Draco vowed, he would not react.

Probably.

Fortunately, Draco consoled himself, they had a day in detention together without Potter, Granger, Weasley or any of Luna's other pals around. He could win her trust back, such as it was, if he could only talk to her, of that Draco was certain.

Luna was already seated at a small desk in the corner of McGonagall's office when Draco arrived for detention. As it was early on a Saturday – and it promised to be a glorious day, too, all cloudless blue skies and warm breezes – the hallways were virtually empty; all the students were still abed, with an entire empty day ahead of them to fill as they wished. McGonagall, seated imperiously behind her stout wooden desk, looked as though she'd been awake for hours. Draco wondered privately if dragon-ladies ever slept, smirking at the thought.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall greeted him tersely, frowning at his private grin.

Draco pulled a politely neutral expression into place. Fighting with Minerva McGonagall would be counterproductive at this point. "Professor," he returned simply.

His eyes drifted casually to the glass-fronted cabinet mounted on the wall behind McGonagall's desk. He found what he was looking for in an instant and shifted his gaze back to hers, so innocently she didn't seem to noticing anything unusual at all.

McGonagall gestured at Luna's back. Draco noted that two desks had been pushed together in the corner; Luna had taken the chair facing the windows, leaving her back to the room. Six very large boxes, each overflowing with faded parchment, were stacked on the floor around her, and a series of large, dusty black binders filled both desks.

"I've already explained to Miss Lovegood that you'll be updating alumni files," McGonagall informed Draco. "As Deputy Headmistress, it's part of my job to keep up with the accomplishments of Hogwarts' graduates. In those boxes," she pointed to the floor beside the desks, "are clippings from _The Daily Prophet _and other such items pertaining to former students from the last ten years. You will note each news item in the ledgers there," she indicated the binders. "Any questions?"

Draco had none. He felt McGonagall's eyes on his back as he crossed to sit opposite Luna. He knew the Head of Gryffindor House was waiting for him to make some snide remark, something that would earn him a punishment separate from (and thereby harsher than) Luna's, but Draco took his place wordlessly, pulled a box to him, and set to work.

Luna didn't acknowledge his existence. It was only by glancing up from under his lashes that he could gauge her mood without being obvious. She was wearing faded jeans and a Holyhead Harpies tee-shirt. Her long blonde tresses were pulled aside into two braided pigtails, each secured by a thick purple band. She looked unusually normal without any of her absurd necklaces or earrings. Draco found the normalcy disconcerting, like she wasn't the same girl he'd known but some beautiful, inscrutable stranger. Her serene expression betrayed none of the hurt he'd glimpsed outside Slughorn's office, though Draco didn't believe for a second she'd simply forgiven him.

_And if she isn't openly hostile, how am I supposed to apologize?_

Their task didn't permit them to ignore one another completely, Draco soon realized. He didn't doubt that was McGonagall's plan; she would want them to work together, to be friends. After a moment of perusing a news clipping, Luna announced, "I need the binder for 1999." She was pointing at a binder beside Draco's elbow. He looked back at her blankly, not understanding.

Luna didn't smile. Her voice was its usual, airy timber, yet to him, her placidness seemed forced. "The binders are arranged by graduation year, see?" She held up a binder with "1996" inked in gold along the spine. "And this," she tapped a large parchment in the center of the two desks, filled with cramped black writing, "is the master list, with the names and years of graduation."

And that was that. For three hours, their conversation consisted of asking one another for different books. A few times, Draco was tempted to comment on some of the juicier news items; mostly it was births and weddings, but some things were truly fascinating, like the Hufflepuff student who'd designed the Firebolt, while others were just amusing, like Rita Skeeter's first award for her now-notorious gossip column. But each time he thought up a conversation starter, Luna's determined refusal to look him in the eye would shut him down. Draco couldn't stomach being made a fool of in front of McGonagall – if he offered an olive branch and Luna shot him down, he wasn't sure he could gracefully accept the rebuff, much as he deserved it. He knew he was being a coward, but there it was.

The only hint of discomfiture Luna betrayed was when their hands brushed passing binders back and forth. Since he couldn't see how to fit Luna flinching away from his touch into a category that spelled victory for his carefully-laid plans, by the time McGonagall announced they were free for the day, Draco had decided the situation called for drastic measures.

Like honesty.

The castle was fully awake now. Students were spilling inside to take lunch in the Great Hall; sunlight streamed clear and beautiful through the high windows. Before Luna could escape back to her friends, Draco seized her elbow – she gasped in surprise, but luckily McGonagall's office door was already closed – and drug her into an empty classroom nearby.

Luna immediately pulled away, her expression mirroring the frightened uncertainty that had led to an attack at their first meeting.

"I'm sorry," Draco blurted, holding up a hand to stop her running at him. "For what I said the other day. I'm sorry."

A short, stunned silence fell. By force of will Draco kept his eyes on Luna's; he really wanted to bolt from the room. Apologizing did not come naturally to Draco. He rarely did anything he felt badly enough about to bother, not because he was a saint (far from it) but because he tried to think through his actions, so that his malevolence was calculated, nothing he regretted. He wasn't much practiced at actual friendships, either – followers, those he had, in Crabbe and Goyle and Parkinson and a handful of other Slytherins, but not real friends. As he faced down Luna's skeptical stare, Draco acknowledged that he hadn't factored this particular difficulty into his scheming.

Manipulating Luna he had planned on. Befriending her? No. But Draco was quickly learning that nothing short of genuine, honest-to-goodness friendship would win this strange, lovely girl over to his side.

If it was the price of his freedom and his parents' lives, Draco had to admit, it was a small one.

Perhaps Luna saw the shift in his eyes, a small yet profound change, for her rigidly defensive posture relaxed ever-so-slightly. "You don't have to apologize." Her smile was tentative but, he saw with relief, no longer forced. "I know you don't want anyone thinking we're…acquainted."

Draco shook his head (not missing that she didn't call him a "friend"). He was determined now that there should be no misunderstandings between them on this point. "That's not why I said…what I said. I couldn't stomach Slughorn thinking I'd lost anything to Potter," he confessed, his jaw clenched with the effort of making such a humiliating admission. "Not even a girl."

Luna arched an eyebrow. "You really hate him, don't you? Harry, I mean."

"It's not hate."

"What, then?"

Despite the dreamy quality of her voice, Draco could hear the solemnity of Luna's question. He gave it the weight it deserved, thinking over his reasons for despising Potter as he slowly paced down a row of empty desks, trying to be honest – with her and with himself.

"He's arrogant," Draco offered at last.

Luna, perched on top of a low table piled with dirty cauldrons at one end, laughed. "So are you, you know."

"Not like Potter," Draco insisted. "He thinks he was born to greatness. That he has some destiny that makes him better than everyone else. That he's above the rules."

Draco stopped pacing to await Luna's vehement defense of her heroic friend. She surprised him by puzzling over his words as he had over hers. For several minutes, she stared at the tops of her glitter-dusted purple shoes (so much for entire normalcy in her appearance, he noted wryly) and tugged absently on a braided pigtail, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny.

"I don't think Harry is like that," she decided at length. Her words were firm without being defensive, like she understood how someone could misinterpret Potter's attitude. "I don't think he wants to be famous or important. I think he'd give it all up to have his parents and his godfather back."

Fixed beneath her placid blue gaze, Draco was acutely aware that Luna and Harry had something dreadful in common: They had each suffered the loss of a parent. Before he could fumble out a response, Luna went on, "And Harry knows the rules apply to him. He just isn't afraid to break them if he has to. You might have something in common there," she concluded, rather devilishly.

In spite of himself, Draco returned her grin. "I doubt Potter would see it that way."

Luna cocked her head to one side, studying him. "You know," she observed, "you should smile more. It looks nice on you."

How girls could do that, Draco would have loved to know – say something so off-handedly that could throw some unsuspecting bloke's heart into his throat. There were girls who knew they had that power, and they wielded it like a weapon; Luna's charm, however, was totally innocent, completely guileless – and that much harder to resist.

_Well, resist it. THAT is not part of the plan._

Draco snapped back to himself, pulling his distant reserve firmly back into place. "So we have an understanding, then?"

Hopping down from the table, Luna nodded pertly. "I understand. In public, we're enemies. In private…" She shrugged. "I guess we're not enemies."

Which wasn't quite friends, Draco thought, but it would have to do.

"I'm hungry. I think I'll go down to lunch now. Coming?"

Draco was surprised again by how calmly and unquestioningly Luna accepted his plan, once she was convinced (or reasonably so) that his motives were pure. He had half-expected her to make some sort of demand, to ask for an idea of just how long he intended her to trust in him and lie to all of her friends before he showed her proof that he was on Potter's side, to press for more details about his plot to strike a blow against Voldemort. Alone in the quiet, suddenly warm room, he thought he might have told her everything.

But she didn't ask. She just stood by the door, smiling expectantly, and that more than anything told him he had won back her trust.

For the moment.

"You go on. I'll see you next week."

Luna nodded. "Okay. Next week. 'Bye." And she skipped out of the room.

Draco watched her go, an odd ache starting deep in his chest, thinking that perhaps the price of Luna's friendship wouldn't be so small after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: An Understanding

After three more weeks of Saturday detentions, Draco was fairly certain he had Professor McGonagall right where he wanted her.

McGonagall was no fool. Draco never underestimated an opponent; his Housemates might poke fun at the Head of Gryffindor House, but Draco knew of all their teachers, only Dumbledore and Snape were more talented or savvy. He had no chance of tricking Minerva McGonagall. If he wanted to earn even a smidge of her trust, he would have to honestly be good.

Draco had thought at first that he'd wasted a week of his planning – a week he could ill afford – though looking back on it, he decided his row with Luna before their first detention had been a blessing in disguise. McGonagall might have been suspicious if he and Luna had become friendly too soon after their staged battle in the Great Hall.

So Draco took it slow, and Luna, without any prompting, followed his lead – she was an incredibly ally in that way. The second week, near the end of their almost four hours together, Draco started a conversation about one of the news stories he'd just read, and Luna joined in tentatively. McGonagall, who was obviously hoping they would lay their ire aside, smiled into her tea, though she said nothing. The next week, Draco and Luna talked off and on during the entire detention, venturing into comparing their favorite Quidditch teams (prompted by a story about Oliver Wood's recruitment to the Puddlemere United reserve team). By the end of their fourth detention, they were arguing openly about the talents of Victor Krum, whom Luna maintained was nowhere near as talented as the papers made out.

"It's a conspiracy," she insisted.

Draco snorted. "Between who?"

"The Goblins and the Bulgarian Nationals, of course," Luna replied calmly, blithely ignoring Draco's sarcasm. "My father wanted to write about it, but he couldn't get anyone to give him an interview. Goblins can be really nasty enemies, you know."

Draco shook his head, amused, wondering if Luna really believed half of the things her father printed or if she was, as he often suspected, just being loyal. He was honestly surprised when McGonagall cleared her throat and announced that they could go for the day. The time had flown.

The approving nod McGonagall offered them as they departed confirmed for Draco that phase two of his plan was on schedule. It would be safe to act the next week – and he really needed to, or his entire scheme would be compromised.

Crabbe and Goyle, fortunately, had remained loyal to Draco, once he reestablished himself as the biggest bully in school. That night, in a private corner of the Slytherin common room, Draco told his two goons what he wanted them to do and when – but not why. The pair of numbskulls didn't even ask; they just nodded eagerly, obedient dogs happy to please their master.

Pansy Parksinon, who has her own dog-like quality in a puppy-love fixation that perpetually annoyed Draco, sidled over to take a seat beside him on the couch after he waved Crabbe and Goyle away. As she was the prettiest girl in his year and a pureblood, Draco tolerated her – she was good for his image – but just then his thoughts were on the many steps that remained to be taken if his master plan was to work, making Pansy's presence even more irritating than usual.

"You always seem so unhappy on the weekends, Draco," Pansy purred. She trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand. "Is McGonagall positively vile to you in detention?"

Draco shrugged absently, wishing she would take his frosty reserve as a hint that he wished to be left alone. "No more than usual."

That wasn't fair, of course: McGonagall had been more than kind, given that Draco had attacked her. By rights he should have been scraping gum off the bottom of desks – without the aid of magic – every Saturday. But why disabuse his Housemates of the notion that McGonagall was a dragon-lady? He seriously doubted she was losing any sleep over her popularity with the Slytherin students.

"And Loony Lovegood?" Pansy teased, laying her head on his shoulder (and most definitely not taking the hint to go away). "How do you stand being cooped up with that freak half the day?"

Anger flared white-hot in Draco, an anger he was careful not to hint at even as he fantasized about shoving Pansy off the couch. "I ignore her," he responded silkily, "and remember that someday, she'll bow before the Dark Lord, just like Potter."

Pansy gazed up at him adoringly, unaware of how thoroughly repulsed Draco was by himself in that moment. It was essential that no one suspect his change of allegiance, not even a blithering idiot like Pansy; to every single person in his life, for the time being Draco had to appear to be the same pampered, sneering brat he'd always been – someone who detested Potter and all of his friends, someone who relished the rampant cruelty of the Dark Lord. Draco knew this, and so far as Potter was concerned, he loathed his once-enemy enough to feel few pangs of remorse for insulting him. He didn't feel the same way when it came to Luna, though. More and more, Draco found himself regretting what a complete and total jerk he had to be about (and to) her in front of other people.

Luna – sweet, funny, loyal Luna – whom he was about to put in very great danger for the sake of saving his own skin.

Even though she hadn't been threatened in over a month, Harry remained Luna's shadow. He escorted her from class to class and accompanied her to the library on most evenings to do homework. It would have been nice to spend so much time with her friend if Luna hadn't felt so terribly guilty for lying to him.

As the weeks passed, Luna suspected that Harry's motives weren't purely selfless, however. For one thing, only a blind person could have overlooked the burgeoning romance between Ron and Lavender Brown – and only a fool would have missed that Hermione's abrupt disgust with Ron had more than a little to do with his new girlfriend. Luna didn't doubt that being best mates with Ron and Hermione was a tough spot to be in these days, and she couldn't blame Harry for wanting someone neutral to spend time with. Since Ginny was always with her boyfriend Dean, Luna supposed she was a good enough alternative.

For another thing, Harry had a great deal on his mind these days and, as always, seemed comfortable sharing those thoughts with Luna. She knew he left a lot unsaid – like why he was taking private lessons with Dumbledore this year, and why he had joined the Slug Club when he didn't much care for Professor Slughorn. Luna never pressed for answers. She just listened. She understood Harry's need for secrecy; they were in a war, after all. Besides, she could hardly judge him for being less than open given the secret she was keeping about fighting You-Know-Who.

The night before her fifth detention, a Friday, Luna spent the evening with Harry in the library. He was researching the uses of dragon's blood for a Potions essay while Luna reviewed her History of Magic notes for Monday's exam. They worked quietly together until nearly nine, when Harry closed his book, stretched, and asked her to come along to visit Hedwig, his owl.

"I've been meaning to ask," Harry said on the way to the Owlery, "how are your detentions going?"

Luna stared determinedly straight ahead. Lying hadn't gotten any easier for her with practice; she still had to fight down a furious blush whenever Draco's name or anything related to her ongoing punishment came up. "Fine," she answered hastily. "Professor McGonagall has been very nice to us, actually." She found the lying sounded more natural when shot through with truth.

"Yeah, McGonagall's all right. She could've chucked me out of here a few times, but she's always been fair." Harry paused to let a group of giggling fourth-year Ravenclaws pass them on the stairs. Luna wondered if Harry knew he was the cause of their excited chatter; knowing his modesty, she doubted it.

"Anyway, what I really meant to ask was how it's going with Malfoy."

The twist of loathing when he said Draco's name bothered Luna more than it should have. Six weeks ago, she had shared Harry's opinion of Draco, if not the depth of his dislike. Draco could still prove to be just as horrid as Harry believed, Luna reminded herself, so she worded her reply cautiously.

"He's been all right. Almost…nice, actually. But then," she added ruefully, "we are in McGonagall's office."

_Most of the time_, a small voice in the back of her mind piped up. Luna did her level best not to dwell on the few minutes she'd spent alone with Draco this year. Doing so caused odd fluttery feelings in her stomach that made lying about him much, much harder.

They had reached the Owlery, and to Luna's relief, Harry let the subject of Draco drop while they petted his gorgeous snowy owl. The days had grown short as Halloween approached; outside the castle, darkness blanketed the grounds, pierced here and there by the glow of a full moon filtering through thick clouds. Luna glanced at Harry in the half-light to find him gazing pensively toward the Forbidden Forest.

"You're worried about what's out there, waiting for us."

Harry started, seemingly surprised by her insightfulness, then nodded. "I was remembering the first time Hagrid told me about Voldemort," he mused, his eyes a thousand miles away, watching memories Luna didn't share. "It was in the Leaky Cauldron, just before I came to Hogwarts for my first year." Harry smiled sadly. "Sometimes I can't believe there were whole years of my life when Voldemort didn't define me. When I didn't even know his name."

"You-Know-Who doesn't define you, Harry." Luna stroked Hedwig's feathers; the owl hooted softly with pleasure. "You define yourself, by how you choose to live."

His troubled gaze still on the grounds, Harry laughed mirthlessly. "You sound like Dumbledore. He's always saying it's what I do that makes me who I am."

"Dumbledore's very wise," Luna pointed out sensibly. "You should listen to him."

Harry reached out and placed his hand lightly on top of Luna's, which rested on Hedwig's back. He studied their fingers – hers small and slender, his long and calloused – while Luna studied him, waiting patiently, sensing his indecision. He wanted to say more, she could tell, but was wrestling with the fear of revealing too much about his secrets.

At last, his voice a breath above a whisper, Harry confessed, "It doesn't always feel like that. Like I'm in control of my life."

Luna's heart began to pound. She knew Harry was speaking, in veiled terms, about the prophecy that had everyone calling him The Chosen One. She believed in her soul that it was true, that Harry was destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but to have it confirmed, even obliquely, was a horrifying revelation for anyone who cared about Harry.

"Sometimes…sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, everything's already been decided for me, and I can't change it. It's just a question of how much I'll lose before it's all over."

Harry looked up at her with search remarkable pain in his green eyes that Luna wished, not for the first time, she could shoulder all of her friend's many burdens for him. Knowing that she couldn't, that she would likely stand on the periphery of the battles Harry would have to fight, Luna settled for turning her hand over, lacing their fingers together, and squeezing his fingers encouragingly. Harry smiled, the first real smile Luna thought she'd seen from him all term.

If only Draco could see him like this, she thought, he wouldn't think so badly of Harry.

_And if Harry could see Draco as I've seen him, _her inner voice echoed loyally, _he wouldn't think so badly of Draco, either._

That was the instant Luna made up her mind about helping Draco. She hadn't realized until then that she'd been holding back from fully committing, deep down in her soul, to being his ally, to working with him to earn Harry's trust so they could fight You-Know-Who together. She suddenly saw that all of her agonized guilt over lying to her friends – well, most of it, anyway – came from the doubts she harbored about Draco. Doubts that made her want an escape route, a way back to her real friends if Draco betrayed her.

But smiling into Harry's clear, honest eyes, Luna realized that she same truthfulness she admired in Harry was there in Draco, too. Oh, he had his secrets – as did Harry. As did Dumbledore. And of course she wasn't fool enough to believe Draco was anything like Harry, anywhere near so noble or selfless. In all likelihood, if Draco hadn't been put in danger by You-Know-Who, he never would have changed sides.

Or maybe it would have been fairer to say Draco would never have really chosen a side. He would have stayed in the background, protecting his own interests while others fought the real battles, not interested much in which side won so long as he was safe in the end.

Standing there, smiling into Harry's eyes, Luna realized that she didn't honestly care about Draco's intentions. His reasons for helping Harry, self-interested though they were, didn't matter; what mattered was that she believed Draco really did want to see You-Know-Who defeated. Just as she trusted Harry to tell her what she needed to know, so too would she trust Draco, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to take a tiny bit of the weight off Harry's soul by bringing him an important ally in this fight.

Her decision finally made, Luna suddenly felt so light-hearted she impulsively leaned forward and kissed Harry on the cheek. He blinked in surprise.

"What was that for?" he inquired, as Luna, fingers still laced with his, skipped toward the stairs.

"Because we're friends," she replied simply. "And whatever kind of trouble you're in, Harry, your friends will be there with you. I promise."

Draco had to put his recent vow not to lose his temper with Potter to the test as he watched Luna and her precious Chosen One stroll out of the Owlery hand-in-hand. Potter looked slightly dazed; Luna's smile was even dreamier than usual. In Draco's opinion, it didn't take a genius to figure out what they'd been doing up there in the moonlight.

Not that he was surprised, Draco reflected darkly from his hiding place behind a suit of armor. He'd been trying without success to get Luna alone for the better part of six days now, except Potter rarely left her side. The girl might as well have grown an appendage with a lightning-shaped scar. Draco had been reduced to skulking around the corridors in the hopes of catching her on her way into the Ravenclaw dormitory, the one place Potter didn't follow her. Draco was not happy about the situation. He felt like a blithering idiot, waiting around while Potter enjoyed a nice snog.

_Calm down_, Draco's sensible self commanded. _You're too interested in her anyway. Better that she's with Potter – it'll stop you wanting things you can't have._

Trailing stealthily behind the apparently happy couple, Draco wondered for the thousandth time in six weeks why Luna Lovegood, of all the girls in school, had caught his fancy in a way no one else ever had. He didn't have a crush on her; it wasn't anything so silly or juvenile as that. He really, truly _liked _her. He liked her easy laugh, her free spirit, her boundless optimism. He liked the way her blue eyes stood out so luminously in her pale face. He liked how she chose to believe absurd things because it made life interesting to see possibility everywhere. He liked that she didn't need other people's approval, that she thought for herself. He liked that she wore homemade glittery earrings and skipped to her classes. He liked that she challenged him, that she didn't fear him, that she made him work for what he wanted. He wasn't used to that, from anyone.

Draco understood himself well enough to realize that when he liked something, he became insanely possessive of it. He wanted Luna to be _his_, maybe not romantically (though he couldn't deny that he was increasingly attracted to more than just her spirit) but at least emotionally. He wanted _her _to like _him_. What was more, he didn't want to share her affections with Potter. With anyone, really, but especially not with Potter.

Well, at least some good would come from Luna spending so much time in close proximity to Potter, Draco mused: It would be much easier to lift one of Potter's hairs off of Luna's robe than to find an excuse to get within touching distance of Potter himself. An excuse that didn't involve punching, that was. Without a piece of the Chosen One, the second phase of Draco's plan couldn't happen – that was the one ingredient he still lacked, the one he had to secure before tomorrow. Thanks to Potter's newfound closeness with Luna, Draco finally saw his opportunity to do just that.

Such ruminations brought Draco to the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower, where he spotted the hero in question climbing the steps.

Alone.

It took a moment for it to sink in that Potter had at last left Luna's side. Seconds later, Draco was sprinting toward the Ravenclaw dormitory.

Fortunately, the hallway outside the Ravenclaw dormitory was deserted when Draco rounded the corner to find Luna gazing serenely up at the rafters. "Psst," he hissed, motioning her toward a staircase that led away to another empty corridor – one where they'd be less likely to be seen together. "Over here."

Luna floated his way, her dreamy smile never faltering. She didn't seem surprised in the least by his sudden, out-of-breath appearance. It was almost like she'd been expecting him.

"Were you waiting for me?" Draco demanded as Luna ducked around the corner of an archway that hid them from the view of both staircases.

"Oh yes," she assured him evenly. "I saw you waiting outside the Owlery. I told Harry I'd forgotten my bag in the library and he should go on to bed."

_So bloody much for being stealthy_, Draco chided himself. _Lucky Potter was too busy ogling her to notice me._

"Is something wrong?"

Luna appeared sublimely unconcerned by that possibility, and Draco noted irritably that Potter's kissing must be pretty good – Luna's head seemed even higher up in the clouds than usual. He gritted his teeth, squelched those thoughts, and got right down to business. A lot more was at stake here than his ridiculously pointless feelings for a girl who would never give him a second look.

"Tomorrow when we're in McGonagall's office, she's going to be called away," he explained crisply. Luna nodded, becoming more solemn as she concentrated on his words. "It's absolutely essential that you and I are in her office, together, when she leaves. So no matter what, I need you to convince her to let us both stay there, okay?"

"She will." Luna was supremely confident. "She trusts us."

Draco hesitated. His message was delivered; he needed to hurry back to the Slytherin dormitory before they were caught out after hours. Nothing could disrupt his plans for the next day. Yet he still had this one last task to accomplish, and he needed to distract Luna so he could do it. One part of the next day's plan he was certain she would object to; he didn't want to give her time to back out.

That thought gave Draco an idea for how to distract the surprisingly-observant Luna. He pretended to hesitate, as if searching for words, before finally beginning, "If you've changed your mind about helping me…"

Luna cut him off. "I haven't."

She spoke so decisively, Draco wasn't sure how to continue. "It'll be dangerous," he pressed after a beat.

"I know." Luna grinned. "Hero stuff always is."

Draco knew he couldn't draw this conversation out forever – he had to act. He took a deep breath, steadying himself; he was nervous, and not just because of how badly he needed the next day's plan to come off without a hitch. Stepping forward, he placed both hands on Luna's shoulders and stared directly into her eyes, pinning her to the spot with his gaze.

She was too taken aback to notice him plucking a dark strand of hair off her robe.

"You'll have to trust me." Draco's voice was huskier than he'd intended, and he hoped she wouldn't notice.

Luna's voice was a little breathy as well. "I do. I mean, I will."

For the first time in their brief yet intense partnership, Draco saw no trace of doubt in Luna's eyes. She meant it. She trusted him.

How she could go from head-over-heels for Potter to trusting her new beau's worst enemy completely in the same night was a mystery to Draco. But as Snape was coming up the stairs, on the lookout for curfew-breakers, Draco decided it would have to remain part of the larger mystery that was Luna Lovegood.

For the moment.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Borrowed Time

Luna hardly slept that night, yet when she reached McGonagall's office the next morning, she was wide awake. Nerves, she suspected. She trusted Draco, but she understood the danger of what they were about to do.

No one defied You-Know-Who lightly.

Draco appeared calm and cool as ever when he arrived a few minutes later, though he'd certainly dressed down from his usual preppy attire in a pair of jeans and a plain navy-blue sweatshirt. Luna wondered if he expected them to be doing something that might ruin clothes and experienced a moment of unaccustomed panic over the prospect that her yellow-and-blue plaid skirt and buttercup-yellow sweater might be impractical for his plan. Almost instantly, she had to fight back a nervous giggle – what fashion rules governed attacks on dark wizards, anyway?

Yes, definitely nerves.

After six straight Saturdays, she and Draco had made quite a dent in McGonagall's backlog of alumni updates. Of the six over-sized boxes of news clippings they'd started with, only one remained to be catalogued. By mid-morning, it was half-empty.

Luna and Draco were by then arguing over who would win the House Cup that year – Luna supported Gryffindor (everyone knew Ravenclaw's team didn't stand a chance after their best players had graduated), while Draco, for obvious reasons, championed Slytherin – and Luna found herself forgetting that today wasn't just another Saturday. It surprised her how much she enjoyed talking to Draco about everyday things like Quidditch. He was smart and funny, and when he wasn't using those talents to bully someone, he was actually quite interesting.

And full of surprises, Luna noted, for he suddenly nudged the mostly-empty box with his toe and called out, "Excuse me, Professor, but what would you like us to do next? We're almost finished here."

Professor McGonagall nearly choked on her tea. Like usual, she was seated with her back to them at her large, cluttered desk, surreptitiously listening to every word. Luna understood the Deputy Headmistress' surprise: Aside from a terse greeting of "Professor" each Saturday, Draco hadn't once addressed McGonagall during their detentions. He'd certainly never sounded so, well, respectful to her before.

Luna's pulse quickened. This had to be part of the plan. Whatever was going to happen must be about to happen.

Recovering her composure, McGonagall turned toward them. "Actually, I thought we might forgo any further detentions, seeing as how next week is the first Hogsmeade visit and you've both been so diligent – "

At that moment, the door to McGonagall's office flew open and a harried-looking Filch stumbled breathlessly in. Affronted by his rudeness – no one burst into McGonagall's office without knocking, of that Luna was sure – McGonagall demanded sharply, "Mr. Filch, what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but something's happened in the Gryffindor common room," Filch panted. "There's smoke everywhere and the Fat Lady won't let me in. It's like she don't know who I am, though I've been cleaning her every week for how long – "

"All right, all right." McGonagall, clearly exasperated, waved Filch into silence. She glanced uncertainly from Draco to Luna as she rose. "I'd best go take care of this immediately. Miss Lovegood, Mr. Malfoy, I suppose you can both go."

Draco kicked Luna under the table, confirming that this was her cue. "But we're almost finished, Professor," she countered brightly, pointing at the remaining box. "I don't mind to stay. It's the least we can do, really," she insisted, seeing McGonagall's reluctance to leave Draco alone with an unprotected friend of Harry's. "You've been so fair to us, after all."

Shrieks and shouts from the direction of Gryffindor Tower were now reaching them, and Filch was fairly dancing with impatience, anxious to see the culprits brought to justice and order restored. McGonagall sighed. "Very well. If you finish before I return, just lock the door behind you."

The instant they were alone, Draco flew into action. He shoved back from the table and produced a small silver flask from the pocket of his sweatshirt. Before Luna could ask what it was for, he pointed to a glass-fronted cabinet behind McGonagall's desk and commanded, "I need you to open that."

The cabinet was locked, Luna discovered, not surprising given that it was filled with an assortment of restricted and confiscated items, the majority of them Fred and George Weasley's products, hanging on brass pegs or stacked on small wooden shelves inside. A simple, "_Alohomora,"_ proved sufficient to unlock it.

Draco was now unscrewing the lid of the flask and fishing what looked like two black hairs out of a muslin pouch also stowed in his pocket. He paused to order her, "Take out the Time Turner."

The Time Turner – what was something so dangerous as _that _doing here, at Hogwarts? Luna's hand was already inside the cabinet, but she froze and turned uncertainly back to Draco.

He was ignoring her, intent on his own mysterious work. She couldn't quite manage her usual levity as she remarked, "I thought they kept things like this under lock and key at the Ministry. Terrible things happen to wizards – "

" – who mess with time. Yes, I know," Draco rejoined impatiently. He produced a rusty gold chain from the pouch – Luna wondered what all he had stored in there anyway – and tapped it once with his wand, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The worthless old chain immediately transformed into an exact replica of the Time Turner.

"Take the real one," he instructed her, "and put this one," he slid the fake Time Turner across the desk, "back in the cabinet."

Draco had by then dropped the hairs into the flask. It now bubbled and fumed slightly, giving off a fragrance that reminded Luna of peppermint and broomstick polish. He kept his eyes on hers as she continued to hesitate.

"Do you trust me or not?"

Well, when he put it that way…

Luna snatched the real Time Turner off its peg and hooked the replica in its place. She turned to see Draco grimacing as he chugged the contents of the small flask. In a flash, she understood at least part of what was happening: Draco's jeans, sweatshirt and beat-up trainers, far more casual and ragged than his usual snappy black ensembles; the dark hairs he'd stored; the familiar-looking pair of glasses he'd produced from the little pouch and placed on the desk beside his hawthorn wand – it all made sense, if what was in the flask was what she knew it had to be.

Polyjuice Potion.

Draco Malfoy had no business attacking You-Know-Who's minions. But Harry Potter did. And before Luna's eyes, Draco transformed into The Boy Who Lived.

It would take five turns to bring them back to Friday at the stroke of midnight, eleven hours before the exact moment that Draco and Luna found themselves alone in McGonagall's office. Draco had timed Crabbe and Goyle's disruption (courtesy of a dung bomb modified with the Weasley twins' Peruvian Darkness Powder and a Confundus charm performed on the Fat Lady) so carefully because he needed to know precisely what moment to return them to; as Luna had pointed out, meddling with time was a dangerous business, and Draco had spent considerable effort calculating exactly how far to take them back.

Five turns would give them eleven hours to sneak out of Hogwarts, enter Hogsmeade village, travel from there to the Malfoy's mansion, attack one of Voldemort's most dangerous henchmen, and get back before McGonagall returned to find them gone, their work unfinished. It was imperative that they arouse no suspicions, that no one have any idea he and Luna had not been in McGonagall's office the entire morning. They had to be right where she had left them, innocent as lambs, for McGonagall to find.

Luna looked blurry standing beside McGonagall's desk, holding the Time Turner on its long golden chain. For a moment, Draco thought something might have gone wrong with the potion – he'd never mixed it before – until he remembered the glasses on his desk, the ones he'd swiped from a fifth-year Slytherin boy's backpack and Transfigured to be an exact replica of Potter's. He slipped them into place, and the world (including Luna's unusually tense expression) came instantly into focus.

She smiled. "Now you look like Harry."

Draco shook his head, wondering how in the world she could manage to be so serene when they were about to run headlong into deadly peril.

"Ready?" he asked, slipping the Time Turner's chain around his neck and Luna's. He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her closer; she stumbled a little, pressing her palms against his chest to steady herself.

Draco wondered fleetingly if it was odd for Luna to stare into Potter's eyes and see someone else – especially Draco, whom Potter believed to be his sworn enemy – looking back at her. He spared a moment to examine his reflection in the glass-fronted cabinet behind her and, though he knew what to expect, couldn't help starting a bit himself. How odd to look in the mirror and see Potter's green eyes, unruly black hair and lightning-shaped scar instead of his own pale features.

The clock was ticking, though, so Draco stopped dawdling and took them back in time.

A Muggle might have compared the sensation of time travel to riding an escalator backwards on fast-forward. Draco just knew it left him feeling giddy and slightly light-headed when, within seconds, he found himself standing in McGonagall's dark, empty office, Luna still clutching the front of his sweatshirt with both hands. Outside, the castle grounds were midnight-black; the clock was just then tolling midnight.

Please with the accuracy of his calculations, Draco left the Time Turner hanging around his neck but dropped it down inside his shirt, hidden from view. "Let's go." He led her out into the silent corridor.

"When is this?" Luna inquired evenly, as if she traveled back in time everyday.

"Last night," he answered.

Luna sounded a little nervous but unafraid. "Won't we get caught?"

Draco shook his head, feeling smug. For five weeks, he'd been sneaking out of bed nearly every night, memorizing the teachers' patrol patterns through the castle. Dumbledore insisted on heightened security now that Voldemort was back in power; the increasing reports of disappearances and murders in _The Daily Prophet _validated the Headmaster's concern for his students' safety. The teachers took their duty to protect their charges seriously, but they weren't Aurors: They quickly became complacent, walking the same routes at the same time every night. Draco knew exactly which hallways to avoid if they wanted to be unseen by teachers on their way to the Great Hall.

Once there, he hurried between the empty House tables, across the teachers' platform, and through the small, easily-overlooked door to the right. He was certain Luna remembered this place – the pitch-black, cavernous stairwell led to the cave-like room where their journey together had begun during the first week of school.

But that room wasn't their destination tonight. "_Lumos_," Draco whispered into the darkness, holding his wand aloft. Beside him, Luna did the same, then slipped the fingers of her free hand through Draco's, causing his heart to stumble in his chest.

_She's afraid of getting separated, that's all, _he told himself sternly. _Don't read into it._

Draco supposed the fact that he was momentarily a dead-ringer for Potter might also have something to do with the hand-holding. Under something other than life-or-death circumstances, he might have taken advantage of that.

"Where are we going?" Luna whispered, her voice amplified in the darkness.

"Hogsmeade," Draco replied. He didn't offer further detail, and Luna didn't ask. Either she was more frightened than she let on, too frightened to want details, or she was willing to let his plan unfold one step at a time. That was how Draco preferred it – no need to have her worrying about their target any sooner than the plan absolutely demanded, he reasoned.

Down, down, down they descended, the air growing colder and staler with every step. At last, they came to the bottom – to a solid stone wall.

Luna stared serenely around them. "What now?"

In answer, Draco stepped forward and tapped the wall three times with his wand, sketching an invisible triangle. Immediately, the stones separated, sliding away to reveal another long, straight passage trailing off into blackness.

"Dobby showed me this," Draco explained, seeing Luna's hesitation. "I told him I needed a safe way out of the castle into Hogsmeade. The house-elves go this way sometimes."

Luna shivered. Draco drew her closer to his side, wishing he'd thought to bring their cloaks along – he hadn't anticipated how frigid it would be in the bowels of the castle.

_If getting a little chilled is the worst that happens to us tonight, we'll be lucky._

Draco was more frightened than he cared to admit. He was able to move his feet forward by focusing only on the next step in his plan: Once through the tunnel, which took quite a while since they had to go slowly to avoid falling in the oppressive darkness, they had to make it to the Hog's Head Inn, where, if all went according to plan, help would be waiting. If his thoughts moved further ahead than that, Draco found a sheen of cold sweat covering his forehead despite the icy midnight air.

At last, the tunnel, which had been gradually sloping upward for nearly a mile, opened out of a sheer rock wall onto a hill surrounded by a thick stand of trees. Draco and Luna stowed their wands; he went a little ways ahead of her, picking a path down the muddy, tree-lined slope to the rocky path that led into Hogsmeade from the north, stopping now and again to offer Luna his hand so she wouldn't fall. The slope was unfamiliar to them both; the path was an approach to Hogsmeade that Hogwarts students never had any reason to travel. Ahead of them, the town was dark and quiet, just as Draco had hoped to find it, since he couldn't afford to be seen outside of the school.

Luna took his hand again as they threaded their way between the closed shops to the far edge of town. Draco opened the lock on the inn's front door with a flick of his wand. Even the unsavory crowd that frequented the Hog's Head was in bed by this hour. The pub was deserted, the candles cold, the great fireplace glowing with dying embers.

The fireplace was where Draco immediately headed, Luna in tow. At that moment, with a sharp _crack! _that made both of them jump, Dobby the house-elf appeared beside the hearth.

"Hello, Dobby," Luna greeted the house-elf pleasantly, as if she and Draco were simply out for a midnight stroll.

"Is everything ready, Dobby?" Draco whispered, aware of the innkeeper and guests asleep upstairs.

The little elf nodded, his protuberant eyes troubled. "Dobby has just come from Malfoy Manor, sir, and everything is quiet there."

"Thank you," Draco said, meaning it.

Beside him, Luna suddenly seemed rooted to the floor. "We're going to your house?"

Draco nodded and pulled her closer to the fireplace, but Luna refused to budge. He thought briefly that she must have been worried about him betraying her once they reached his house, where Draco could expect to be safe, but Luna's concern was of an entirely different sort.

"You can't mean to attack your own family." She sounded horrified by the possibility, her unflappable serenity vanished in an instant. "You can't think…No matter what they've done, Harry wouldn't ask you to do that."

Her concern touched Draco, though he didn't let on. Luna's thoughts had gone to the same place Draco's had when he'd first considered how to get close to Potter: Who would Potter want to suffer more than Bellatrax Lestrange, his godfather's murderer and Draco's aunt?

"You should ask Dobby about what my family deserves before you defend them," Draco replied. When Luna folded her arms stubbornly across her chest, prepared to argue the point, he hurried to assure her, "Luna, I'm not after my aunt Bella, or anyone else in my family. I swear."

Not directly, he added silently.

After a beat, Luna nodded her assent. Draco grabbed a handful of Floo Powder out of a small jar atop the hearth. "My father had this fireplace connected to ours when he was first named to the Board of Governors," Draco explained, tossing the powder onto the glowing embers. Instantly, green flames danced over the logs. He cast a sideways glance at Luna, whose pretty face was as grimly determined as he'd ever seen it.

"Keep your wand out."

He saw her grip on the rosewood wand tighten.

"Be careful, friends of Harry Potter," Dobby squeaked, as Draco pulled Luna behind him into the flames.

As the house-elf had reported, the great room of Draco's home was as dark and deserted as the Hog's Head when they stepped out of the hearth, brushing ash off their clothes. Draco motioned for Luna to be absolutely silent. For the moment, so far as Draco knew (and Dobby was an excellent spy), Voldemort was not in his parents' home; had he been, every possible entrance and exit, including the Floo Network, would have been guarded by a Death Eater. But the Malfoys still had plenty of security to be getting on with even when the most evil wizard of all time was not a houseguest. Even with Dobby acting as a look-out for them, Draco half-expected a challenge to issue from the shadows leading into his family's luxurious parlor.

Nothing. They were completely alone.

Satisfied that their appearance had so far gone unremarked, Draco took Luna's hand again – this time out of necessity, since she had no idea where they were going – and pulled her along behind him. They crossed the marble foyer without incident, slipped unnoticed through a side door that led through the kitchens (occupied only by house-elves, all of whom slept in the cellar), and finally stepped out a small door that opened into the gardens.

The clouds parted at that instant, spilling brilliant moonlight over the thick, tangled undergrowth. Draco noted ruefully that his mother's gardening had become somewhat less than stellar of late; her beloved trees, shrubs and flowers were growing wild, obviously untended. He suspected, not without a twinge of pain for his mother's plight, that Narcissa had continued her self-imposed isolation in the far wing of the mansion.

And who could blame her, with only her insane sister and Voldemort's soldiers for company? When this was all over, Draco promised himself, leading Luna along a twisting cobblestone path toward the garden gate, he would see to it that his mother lived somewhere quiet and lovely, with a garden all to herself, far away from the evil and madness that now distorted her world.

Whispers from up ahead brought Draco and Luna up short. He tugged her aside behind a bush heavy with late-autumn roses, their petals carpeting the ground underfoot. He leveled his wand at the path, upon which light footsteps echoed. Luna did the same.

A mad cackle drifted their way. Draco smiled to himself. Aunt Bella – right on schedule.

"If something happens," Draco breathed to Luna, who squatted beside him behind their screen of brown, dying roses, "get back to the Hog's Head. Dobby will be there to take you back to the castle."

Luna titled her head at him, her dreamy air undisturbed one more. Yet her voice was firm when she spoke. "No. We don't leave anyone behind."

By "we," Draco knew she meant Potter's little rabble – Dumbledore's Army, they called themselves. He had no patience for Potter's heroics tonight, though. If he was caught (or worse), he needed to know that Luna wouldn't sacrifice herself to save him. There would be no point in that, no use in them both dying – for the moment the Dark Lord discovered Draco's treachery, Draco would be dead.

"Listen to me," Draco snarled, painfully aware of his aunt's approach. He made his voice as cold and cruel as he possibly could. "I may look like your precious Potter right now, but I'm not. You don't know the things I've done. I'm not worth your life."

"I'm not leaving you here – "

"You're not listening!" Draco fought to keep his voice low. Luckily, his aunt seemed lost in her own dark world, humming and murmuring to herself as she twirled through the moonlit garden. He could see her silhouette now, slowly moving their way. He had only moments left before she would be within earshot.

"You have to listen to me," he insisted, his words come out in a rushing hiss as he opted for a different tactic. "If I'm caught, Voldemort will kill my parents. You can't let that happen. You get out of here, get back to Hogwarts, and have Dobby take you straight to the Headmaster. He'll help them."

Draco sounded more certain of that than he actually felt. He hadn't meant to ask Luna to do this favor for him; he was making this up on the spot, yet as he spoke, he realized that, if it came down to it and he was really captured, his parents' only hope would be Dumbledore's mercy.

"Promise me, Luna." Draco stared hard into her blue eyes, knowing his pleading expression would be even more affecting to her as it was currently etched across Potter's features – earnestness was not an emotion that would have seemed natural on Draco. "Promise me you'll save my parents."

_And yourself._

Slowly, her eyes fixed on his, Luna's stubborn gaze softened. "All right," she murmured. "I promise."

"Good." Draco stood up, motioning for her to stay down. Now that the moment of truth was upon him, his earlier nervousness had vanished: He felt remarkably calm.

Winking over his shoulder at Luna, he whispered, "Potter show you how to stun somebody?"

Luna grinned back. "That, and a little more."

"Then let's hope he's a good teacher," Draco quipped, and stepped onto the garden path.

Bellatrix Lestrange screeched in enraged disbelief when Harry Potter suddenly appeared from behind her sister's rosebush.

"You!" she screamed, her wand momentarily forgotten at her side.

"Now!" Draco-Harry cried.

Luna didn't need to be told twice: From her hiding place just a few feet away, she raised her wand, pointed it squarely at Bellatrix's deranged scowl, and cried, "_Stupefy!_"

The force of the spell knocked the older woman backwards, where she lay prone in the mud, her wild black hair spilling around her head like a pool of blood, her heavy-lidded eyes closed.

Draco-Harry waved for Luna to stay put. She craned her neck to see around the jungle of weeds and flowers between her and the path, to figure out what had him staring so intensely toward the gate.

A moment later, Draco-Harry dropped into the weeds on the other side of the path. That was when Luna heard two sets of footsteps approaching. Someone was whimpering in terror; it sounded like a young girl. Luna tensed.

A hoarse chuckle reached her ears. Someone was thoroughly enjoying the girl's fear.

"Please," the girl sobbed. "Please just let me go. I won't tell anyone, just, please let me go!"

"Now, now," a strange, raspy voice growled. "No need to struggle, pretty girl. Just a little further now."

Luna glanced at Draco-Harry, hunkering beside a small tree with burgundy leaves. He caught her eye and put a finger to his lips, then mouthed, _Wait._

"Bella! Oh, Bellatrix!" the man called in a sing-song voice. His words were laced with barely-suppressed violence. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, Bellatrix! Do you want to watch me play or not?" The girl sobbed harder.

The footsteps drew nearer until Luna could see the speaker, though his face was hidden in shadow. He was a tall, powerfully-built man. His clothes were soiled and greasy, like they hadn't been washed in months; she couldn't imagine Draco's mother allowing this creature inside her pristine mansion. But the man's beggar-like appearance wasn't the strangest thing about him: His hands, Luna noted with a shiver of revulsion, were grotesquely covered in thick black hair, almost like fur. The fingers of one of those claw-like hands were clamped around the hair of a terrified teenage girl. Luna thought the man's victim had to be a Muggle, given that she was wearing a jacket with the college name "Oxford" emblazoned across the front. She looked tiny compared to the giant man.

Luna's wand-hand twitched, her instincts telling her to protect the helpless girl, but Draco's instructions held her motionless in place.

Wait, he had said. And she had promised to trust him.

Overhead, the thick cloud cover suddenly parted, bathing the garden in light from a full orange moon so bright it might have been daytime. As the man's face finally came into view, Luna gasped.

The countenance was horrifyingly familiar from countless Ministry "Most Wanted" posters Luna had seen over the years. No doubt about it – the man in Draco's garden was the werewolf Fenrir Greyback.

She saw Greyback's eyes sweeping the garden in search of Bellatrix, who remained stunned just around the next corner. As soon as he spotted his fallen comrade, the game would be up – Greyback would know enemies were near.

Luna's heart stuttered to a stop. What in the world was Draco thinking? Didn't he realize that tonight was a full moon?

She had only a moment to be terrified before the werewolf threw his head back toward the moon and issued forth a bone-chilling howl.

The clock above the fireplace in the Headmaster's office chimed midnight. Dumbledore, his back to the room, gazed out the window across the castle grounds. The clouds suddenly parted to reveal a reddish-orange orb reflected on the inky lake.

"A Harvest moon," he murmured to himself.

Dumbledore sensed two pairs of eyes boring into his back but did not turn to look at his guests. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape remained seated before the cheerily roaring fire. The tense silence in the room had stretched on for some time, but finally, unable to contain herself any longer, McGonagall burst out, "But it's suicide, Albus! To attack a werewolf at a full moon – there aren't even words for such foolishness! We should go after them, bring them back before…"

She trailed off, unable to voice what might happen if Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood truly confronted Fenrir Greyback on this night.

"If Draco fails to do what Voldemort has ordered him to do," Dumbledore reminded her quietly, "he will die anyway."

McGonagall spluttered, "But it doesn't have to come to that, surely. This can't be a matter of your life or the boy's. We could hide him, and his parents, if necessary."

Snape put in silkily, "The Headmaster and I have already had this discussion, Minerva. He believes we should let Draco be…useful," he hesitated over the word, causing a wry smile to twist unseen across Dumbledore's lined face, "for as long as possible."

"Useful? He's a boy!" McGonagall's voice shot up an octave. Fawkes hooted disapprovingly from his perch. "Albus, you can't seriously intend to let him be killed."

"Severus is not the only one who has sworn to protect Draco," Dumbledore declared firmly, his tone tabling any further question of his concern for Draco's well-being. "I consider the life of every student in this school my personal responsibility."

Undeterred, McGonagall pressed, "Then you can't possibly let him continue with this madness. In all likelihood, Mr. Malfoy is marching himself – and Miss Lovegood – straight into an ambush!"

"Severus assures me that Voldemort is quite unaware of Draco's plans."

"Even so," McGonagall protested, "there's simply no way two underage wizards can hope to take on that-that monster Fenrir Greyback." Nearly beside herself with worry, she stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the fire.

Snape remained seated, smirking a little as McGonagall repeated all of the arguments he had already unsuccessfully made in the past few weeks, once Draco's plans had become clear.

Dumbledore shook his head. "You forget the deeds Luna Lovegood has already accomplished, Minerva. And as I've told Severus, Draco is not without talent. Far from it."

"Luna is brave, no question about that, but as I recall she and her friends only survived the Death Eaters' attack at the Ministry because the Order rescued them. And as for Draco Malfoy…" McGonagall snorted derisively. "Not to be cruel, Albus, but I've taught the boy for six years. He's bright, certainly, but not what I would call 'talented.'"

"Ah, but a good student such as yourself, Minerva, is likely to overlook the fact that not everyone chooses to show his best abilities in the classroom."

McGonagall huffed, considering that. After a moment, however, a spark of understanding lit her eyes, and she gaped at Dumbledore's back. Snape's smirk deepened; he seemed to enjoy watching someone else be talked around to revelations Dumbledore had already brought him to.

"You mean…that is…he can…" McGonagall shook her head, disbelieving. "But honestly, Albus, he's never shown a scrap of talent in Transfiguration classes. He can barely turn a teacup into a stopwatch – "

"Yet somehow," Snape interrupted smoothly, "he received an 'Outstanding' in his O.W.L.s for Transfiguration."

McGonagall thought their arguments over, her pace slowing until she was standing still again. Finally, her voice far less authoritative, she insisted, "It couldn't be done in secret. We would have known."

Dumbledore spoke up at that. "It wasn't so long ago that four young men managed to keep such a secret from us. Or have you forgotten about Monsieurs Padfoot, Prongs, Moony and Wormtail?"

McGonagall dropped back into her chair, defeated.

"It's still dangerous, of course," Snape commented, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. McGonagall nodded wearily in agreement. "Werewolves are vicious creatures, obviously, and Greyback is," Snape searched for the appropriate word, "unique in his appetites."

"I didn't say what Draco intends to do is without danger," Dumbledore pointed out patiently. "I only said that I believe he can succeed, and that we should give him the chance to try."

Snape accepted that. "What I would like to know," he switched tactics to address another point of contention between himself and the Headmaster, "is how you've discovered so much about Draco's plans."

Dumbledore smiled to himself again, watching Snape's reflection in the dark window. He sensed some sourness on Snape's part that Draco had chosen not to confide in his Head of House.

"You're not my only spy in Hogwarts castle, my old friend." Snape grunted at the reminder of his traitorous status. "Draco is very careful about whom he talks to, but he can't accomplish something of this magnitude without help. And I have seen to it that he has the very best help possible."

At that instant, a sharp _crack! _echoed through the office, and Dobby the house-elf appeared beside the Headmaster's desk. Whipping the tea-cozy off his bald head and twisting it between his hands, the little elf reported solemnly, "Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Luna Lovegood have departed for Malfoy Manor, Headmaster."

Dumbledore beamed at his clever spy. "Thank you, Dobby," he said earnestly. "You'll let me know when it's finished?"

The house-elf nodded and Disapparated with another loud _pop. _In the sudden silence, Dumbledore pressed his fingers to the glass and stared up at the enormous moon.

"All we can do now," he murmured, speaking mostly to himself, "is wait."

_A/N: A few of you have asked why I am not just re-posting the entire story at once. I am trying to do a little polishing as I go! And it is a slow process, while I am marketing my own original fic. But I promise the whole story will be up eventually!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Secrets

Luna had never seen a werewolf transform. The process looked excruciating, and the result was beyond anything Luna could have imagined: In a matter of seconds, Greyback had become a monster she had only ever read about.

Standing on the garden path, his howl slowly fading into the night, Greyback might have been any other wolf – except that he was huge. Dimly, Luna recalled reading in Defense Against the Dark Arts that werewolves had tufted tails and longer snouts than regular wolves, though she doubted any by-standers would spend time dwelling on such details as they ran for their lives.

More usefully, she remembered Harry telling her that their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, took the Wolfsbane Potion so he could retain his human thoughts and so keep from harming anyone during his monthly transformations. Luna felt a spark of hope at the memory – until it occurred to her that Greyback would hardly bother with those precautions. He loved being a monster, unlike poor Professor Lupin.

She saw no light of humanity in this wolf's black, feral eyes – eyes that fell upon her immediately, reminding Luna of another fact she'd read about werewolves.

Their long snouts were incredibly sensitive to the scent of human blood.

Luna instinctively raised her wand to shield herself, thankful at least that the wolf had selected her and not the defenseless Muggle girl as his first victim. Cold comfort, perhaps, but she could at least fight back before the werewolf ripped her to pieces.

Luna squared her shoulders, determined to meet her fate bravely, hoping Draco would think to spirit the Muggle girl away before Greyback finished with her…

Before Luna could even finish the thought, an enormous silver shape leapt from the other side of the path and crashed into the werewolf.

The creatures went flying. Momentarily too shocked to move, Luna stared in disbelief as the werewolf's growl mixed with the deafening, hair-raising roar of the biggest, sleekest cat Luna had ever seen. It wasn't just a cat, she realized, once her brain kicked back in. It was a panther. And even for a panther, it was huge.

She stood up, Draco's name forming on her lips, planning to shout to him that they needed to grab the Muggle girl (who was kneeling in the dirt, sobbing uncontrollably) and run for it, but her words died in her throat.

Draco was not where he had been seconds ago, hidden on the other side of the path.

_He left me here._

Luna told herself not to panic. A frantic glance around the garden told her that Draco really was gone. She shook her head in frank disbelief. Why would he just leave her here – why bring her all this way, go to all this trouble, so she could be savaged by a werewolf?

A terrible, ear-splitting scream of animal pain brought Luna's attention back to the fight between the werewolf and the panther. The battle had moved farther off the path into a tangle of briars, and the panther was obviously winning. As Luna watched, unsure whether she could believe her eyes – which was saying something, considering all of the many improbable things Luna readily believed in – the giant jungle-cat clamped its jaws around the werewolf's neck, shook the monstrous canine like a rag-doll until it went limp, ang flung it back onto the cobblestones.

The wolf landed in a motionless, broken heap. For a second, Luna thought Greyback was dead. Then she saw his chest rising and falling – barely.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…"

The helpless sobs reminded Luna of the Muggle girl who still needed to be rescued. Casting a furtive glance toward the mansion, Luna saw lights coming on inside. So much for their secrecy – the animal battle had made enough noise to wake the dead.

"It's all right." Luna rushed onto the path and knelt beside the terrified girl. "It's going to be all right. We just need – "

The girl screamed and clutched Luna, who nearly jumped out of her skin as the enormous silver panther stalked out of the undergrowth toward them, its mercury-colored eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Had it not been so terrifying, Luna thought, the panther would have been beautiful. It stood tall enough to reach her waist, muscles rippling the length of its long, lithe body. Moonlight danced along its short, sleek fur, clotted with dark red blood over its ribs where the werewolf's claws had gashed its right side. The animal displayed no pain and, what was more surprising, no malice; its keenly-intelligent eyes were calm, nothing like the hungry gaze of the werewolf.

The shouts from the direction of the house were growing louder now. Shifting her gaze momentarily away from the panther, Luna lifted her wand, but no one had yet made it this deep into the garden.

Her hand was trembling. She ordered herself to be brave, like Harry and Ron and Hermione and Neville and Ginny. If Draco had abandoned her here, and it seemed that he had, she would accept the consequences of her misplaced trust and at least try to save this one innocent Muggle before the Death Eaters came for her.

And then, before her eyes, the panther transformed. One minute, a beast as majestic and frightening as anything Luna had ever seen was pacing toward her; the next, Draco Malfoy had taken the panther's place.

She felt her mouth drop open but couldn't recall how to close it. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched up in a self-satisfied smirk – _his _smirk, not Harry's, as the Polyjuice Potion seemed to have worn off.

For the briefest instant, their gazes locked, sapphire on cerulean. Luna's heart back-flipped in her chest.

"They're coming." Draco's calm observation broke the spell. Luna blinked and forced her jaw closed. "We have to move. Now."

Wincing slightly – Luna recalled the blood on the panther's side with a pang of sympathy – Draco reached down and hauled the Muggle girl to her feet. "_Obliviate_," he said, aiming his wand at her temple. The girl's eyes uncrossed. With his free hand, Draco grasped Luna's wrist and pulled her to her feet, then drug both girls toward the gate.

"Go," he instructed the Muggle girl gently, pushing her onto the path. Her eyes were starting to clear as the memory charm wore off. He turned her away from the Malfoy's secluded home. "Just keep walking down the road until you come to the village. It's not too far. Someone will help you."

The girl stumbled off into the darkness, safer alone on the road than she would have been in the Malfoys' garden. Draco turned back to Luna, whose mind was swimming with so many questions she couldn't think where to begin.

He looked like he was about to say something when a sudden, sharp _crack! _echoed behind them.

Luna turned to find Dobby standing beside Greyback's prone form. "Dobby is here to help," the house-elf declared proudly. Luna barely suppressed the urge to pull the tiny elf away from the beast – even incapacitated, the werewolf was frightening. "Dobby can take Harry Potter's friends back to Hogwarts."

Luna nearly crumpled with relief – only to have her hopes immediately squashed by Draco shaking his head. "There's no time for that, Dobby," he insisted. "You have to take Greyback to Mad-Eye Moody's. Do you know where he lives?"

"Dobby knows Mr. Alastor Moody's house, yes sir."

"Good. Can you Apparate that thing out of here while it's unconscious?"

"Dobby can do it, sir." The little elf frowned. "But what about Harry Potter's friends?"

"We'll be all right, Dobby. Just get him out of here. And Dobby," Draco added, as the elf reached for the werewolf's arm. "Remember, you can't tell Moody – or anybody – what happened here tonight, all right? Especially not that I was here, or that Luna was with me."

Dobby promised that he wouldn't. With another _pop_, he vanished, taking Greyback – and what seemed to Luna their best chance for escape – with him.

Luna was recovering her wits from the evening's multiple shocks enough to realize just how much danger they were in. Wand-lights were moving through the garden toward them, accompanied by angry shouts. They would soon be found if they stayed where they were, yet it seemed to her their path back to the house was blocked.

"Come on." Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. Luna followed obediently. The clouds had returned, obscuring the moonlight; she trailed him blindly, numb from cold and shock, as he easily found a winding route through the overgrown garden.

Draco was an Animagus. Luna turned the idea over and over in her mind, trying to fit it with the Draco Malfoy she knew, recalling everything Professor McGonagall had ever told her Transfiguration classes about Animagi. Unlike a Metamorphagus, an Animagus wasn't born with the ability to transform; to become an Animagus, a wizard had to be incredibly skilled and practiced. Otherwise, something could go disastrously wrong. Luna's father claimed that a distant cousin of her mother's, apparently sharing a familial tendency to experiment with magic, had once tried to transform himself – the cousin had succeeded, but had been trapped in the form of a caterpillar for years, freed only when his sister finally noticed that a bug with bushy eyebrows remarkably like her brother's kept appearing on her windowsill night after night and, on a hunch, transformed him back. The cousin had never really been right again, though, keeping to dark corners and eating weeds if he wasn't watched closely, but Luna knew that was a happy ending when it came to Animagus transformations gone wrong.

So an underage wizard like Draco was not supposed to have the ability to become an Animagus, yet somehow or other, he did, which suggested he was far more talented than anyone, including Luna, gave him credit for.

Intrigued by that idea, Luna wracked her brain, trying to remember more of McGonagall's lessons about Animagi – as the professor was herself an Animagus, she had talked a lot about them. An Animagus took the same form as its Patronus, McGonagall had once told Luna's class, and like a Patronus, the form reflected something essential about the wizard. The animal form was furthermore supposed to retain some physical markings of the wizard's human self – which, Luna mused, must have been why Draco's panther was silver, not black. Even now, when the moonlight pierced the clouds, his hair was so blonde it seemed to have a silvery sheen.

Luna suddenly recalled the most important thing McGonagall had ever told her students about Animagi. Every Animagus was required by law to register with the Ministry of Magic. To not do so was punishable by imprisonment in Azkaban.

Luna walked straight into Draco's back, too lost in her own thoughts to realize he had stopped. He winced again, placing a protective hand over his injured ribs. "Sorry," she muttered, rubbing her forehead where she'd knocked it against his shoulder.

They were at a side entrance to the house, she saw, in a corner of the garden blessedly far away from the shouting that told her the garden was crawling with enemies. Ever-so-slowly, Draco eased the door open, peering around it into a pitch-black room. Luna held her breath.

She was absolutely terrified, of course, yet she couldn't deny a thrill of edgy excitement coursing through her veins.

Fenrir Greyback had been captured. When Draco had promised to take down a truly dangerous member of You-Know-Who's army, Luna hadn't really understood what a triumph that would be for Harry's side – until she'd seen Greyback with that helpless young girl. To know that a fiend like that would soon be locked away where he could never hurt anyone again made her want to punch the air and give a victory shout.

If Draco shared her elation, he didn't show it, though to be fair he was focused on getting them out of the mansion alive. Swift and silent, he led her through a small room – it was probably a broom cupboard, Luna realized, stepping carefully over a dustbin, but it was bigger than some people's kitchens – and back into the marble foyer. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the abrupt silence; luckily, the Death Eaters all seemed to be far away, out on the grounds, where renewed excitement suggested Bellatrix had been found.

Luna experienced a momentary rush of pride over her handy spellwork. Putting down a witch like Bellatrix Lestrange was no small feat. Luna thought how pleased Harry would be with her quick reflexes – assuming they made it back to Hogwarts for her to share her tale.

It seemed too good to be true that they had made it all the way back to the fireplace in the Malfoy's great room without being spotted. Sure enough, just as Draco grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, a door at the far end of the pitch-black room opened.

Quick as lightning, Draco shoved Luna against the wall, angling his body in front of hers. They each tried to melt into the shadows as completely as possible.

Luna's heart hammered against Draco's back. She could feel his palm sweating where their hands were still clasped and knew he was frightened, too.

_No matter what he says, _Luna decided, _I'm not leaving him now._

A ray of moonlight slanted through a window at the far end of the room. In the dim light, Luna watched an elegant blonde woman in a long, green velvet dressing-gown take a tentative step forward. Luna could tell from the woman's silver-blonde hair and high forehead that she had to be Draco's mother, though the realization brought her little comfort.

For the first time that evening, Luna understood what it meant for Draco to be here, in his own house, fighting back against You-Know-Who. Would Narcissa Malfoy turn on her own son? And what would Draco do if she did?

Perhaps Draco was wondering the same thing, for Luna saw him raise his wand slightly. His shoulders tensed. She wanted to step around him, to spare him having to jinx his mother, yet she knew better than to get between him and his target.

"All clear in here?"

The gruff voice spoke from the doorway behind Mrs. Malfoy. Luna could have sworn that, for a moment, the woman's eyes lingered on the thick shadows where she and Draco stood.

"All clear," Mrs. Malfoy declared crisply, turning toward the voice. "Now, tell me, Carrow, has my sister recovered enough to tell us what happened? The Dark Lord will be here soon," Luna's heart took off even faster at that pronouncement, "and I'd like to give him more of an explanation than Harry Potter mysteriously appearing in my garden."

As soon as the door closed again, Draco threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace, whispered, "Hog's Head Inn," and pulled Luna into the flames behind him.

They had done it.

Dawn was just a glimmer on the horizon behind the distant mountains when Draco led Luna out of the tunnel and through the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle. They were both chilled to the bone, filthy, and exhausted; his ribs felt like he'd been kicked by a giant; but they were alive and safe. He could hardly believe it.

Despite his months of planning, Draco hadn't let himself think much beyond the second phase of his scheme. He'd been afraid to hope for success, he supposed, and even more afraid to consider what failure would mean, for him and Luna both. For a moment there in the garden, when Greyback had transformed, Draco had been convinced he couldn't pull it off, that he wouldn't be strong enough to defeat the werewolf. That fear had almost paralyzed him.

He had overcome his terror because he had no choice. It was fight or die. Even worse, Draco had seen from Greyback's instant focus on Luna that, before the Death Eaters got to him, he would have to watch her die horribly. Going down fighting had suddenly seemed like the better option, probably for the first time in Draco's life.

Now that it was over, Draco wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a soft bed, and a day's worth of sleep. But those comforts would have to wait a bit longer. First, they had to get undercover, before the rest of the castle woke up and they were discovered.

Luckily, Draco had thought far enough ahead to be more or less prepared for their safe return. Luna's feet were dragging as he pulled her up the staircases to the seventh floor; their hands were still joined, although that had ceased to seem odd to Draco. Indeed, he thought it might feel stranger not to have her slender fingers clutching his.

Standing in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls, Draco squeezed his eyes shut tight and walked past the invisible doorway three times. _We need a place to hide and rest, _he pleaded silently, concentrating with all his might._ We need a place to hide and rest. We need a place to hide and rest._

Moments later, they were inside the Room of Requirement, where at one end of the room, behind two separate screens, two steaming-hot baths awaited them, while at the opposite end two featherbeds beckoned. In the center of the room, Draco noted with a grateful smile, was an oversized alarm clock set to ten o'clock – leaving them an hour to sneak through the corridors to McGonagall's office, where they would need to slip inside as soon as his past-self used the Time Turner to send them back to Friday night.

Behind his screen, Draco stripped off his clothes and took a moment to inspect the damage to his ribs in a full-length mirror standing beside the tub. The gash was deep but no longer bleeding; he knew he was lucky not to have worse injuries. Thankful to be alive and mostly whole, Draco sank into the warm, soapy water.

An identical sweatshirt and pair of jeans, perfectly clean, lay beside his tub, along with a huge, fluffy white towel. Content that the necessities were taken care of, Draco laid his head back on the edge of the tub and let the warmth relax his aching muscles.

He was bruised in more places than his gashed ribs, Draco noted, running a hand along his right hip and wincing. Injuries taken in his animal form affected his human body, and vise versa. Greyback hadn't used his most dangerous weapon, though – his teeth. Draco assumed that was because, as a panther, he'd held no appeal for Greyback's wolfish appetite. Werewolves only bit humans.

Like Luna. Remembering how the werewolf's eyes had been drawn automatically, hungrily to Luna, Draco shuddered. Yes, that had been the deciding moment – live or die, he had chosen to fight. It was gratifying to know he had that kind of courage, the kind a person only discovered in a life-or-death situation. He wondered vaguely if that was how Potter had felt the first time he'd faced down Voldemort.

Unlikely, Draco decided sourly. Born heroes like Potter wouldn't feel the same fear as mere mortals.

"Draco?"

Luna's voice from across the screen reminded Draco that he had some hard questions to answer now. Mentally groaning – he knew he owed her an explanation, but he wished the interrogation could wait until he'd slept – he murmured, "Mmm-hmm?" in a way he hoped sounded too exhausted for much conversation. Not that it was much of a stretch to pretend to be completely wiped out at this point.

"Are you badly hurt? I saw the blood on your side, in the garden, before you changed back."

"Just a scratch." Draco suddenly felt like a jerk for not inquiring after Luna's well-being, since she'd been shaking like a leaf from cold and exhaustion by the time they'd returned to the castle. "How about you?"

Water splashed. The awareness that Luna was in a bathtub, undressed, on the other side of a flimsy screen, broke through the exhaustion-induced fog clouding Draco's normally whip-sharp mind. Abruptly, he was wide awake.

"I'm fine." More splashing. Draco surmised that Luna was drying off, and, reluctantly, decided he'd best do the same. They needed some sleep before appearing bright-eyed in McGonagall's office, just as she'd left them that morning.

He imagined his past-self sleeping in the Slytherin dormitory right now, not knowing if his plan would work, if he would live to see Saturday night. It was surreal to think about.

The featherbed was as comfortable as it looked, Draco discovered when he slid beneath the sheet a few minutes later. He wore only jeans; the clean sweatshirt was folded beside his bed. He couldn't help wondering if Luna had opted to redress before climbing into bed.

It was impossible to tell as she was already under the sheets, staring up at the ceiling, her brow furrowed. Her honey-blonde hair, damp from the bath, fanned the pillow. Draco turned on his side to study her unaccustomedly troubled expression. Her smile was beautiful, he thought, but somberness suited her, too.

Without looking at him, Luna inquired, "How long have you been an Animagus?"

Draco noted that Luna's voice hadn't once lost its airy quality, not even in the garden when fear had radiated off of her in palpable waves. He had been impressed then by her composure, and he was impressed now by the evenness of her question. Some people – most people, probably – would have been furious that he'd kept such a secret, while Luna seemed to simply accept that he'd had his reasons.

And what were those reasons? Draco wasn't sure. Part of it was that, much as he liked Luna, he didn't feel particularly close to her. The only time they had really spent alone together (up until now, obviously) had been rushed and strained, fraught with the unease of two former enemies trying to trust one another. He had held back his deepest secrets from her, afraid, if he was honest with himself, that she might decide not to work with him after all, leaving him feeling foolishly exposed, unable to take back what he had told her.

A bigger part of his silence, though, was that Draco had never told anyone, not his aunt Bella or his parents or certainly Crabbe and Goyle, that he was an Animagus. That knowledge was _his_, no one else's.

Until now. Now it was Luna's, too, and soon, little though Draco liked the prospect, it would be Potter's as well.

Luna was waiting on an answer. Draco matched his even tone to hers, pretending a casualness her didn't feel, like being an Animagus was really no big deal.

"About a year now."

"Did it just…happen? Did you just know that you could do it?"

Draco was glad Luna was staring at the ceiling instead of at him; it was easier to talk about this to her profile. "I thought I might be able to," he admitted. "When McGonagall did it in class for us, I always felt..." He trailed off, wishing he could be more articulate, but the feeling was too elusive to be put into words. He went on, "Anyway, I read about Animagi, and I watched McGonagall, and a couple of years ago I really started working on it. Last Christmas, I tried, and…it worked."

Which was the short version of months and months of reading, focusing, and practicing until he sometimes thought his head might explode with effort, and which completely glossed over Draco's astonishment when he'd stared at his animal-form in the mirror standing beside his wardrobe back home, but Luna didn't press for details.

Instead, she twirled a strand of honey-colored hair thoughtfully around one finger. "You're supposed to register, you know." She didn't sound disapproving; she might have been informing him that his shoelace was untied, not that he'd committed a crime for which he could spend years in Azkaban.

"I know."

"So why didn't you?"

Again, Draco detected no hint of judgment or accusation in her voice – just plain old curiosity. The girl was truly a mystery. Every time he thought he had her pinned down – and he had fully expected Luna to disapprove of his secrecy where the Ministry of Magic was concerned, given that she was a friend of Potter's and Potter, in Draco's opinion, was a through-and-through do-gooder – she surprised him.

He worded his answer carefully – and not entirely honestly. "It seemed like it might be a good idea to have a way of protecting myself. Something no one would be expecting."

Luna rolled onto her side and looked him straight in the eye. Caught off-guard by her direct stare, Draco couldn't hide a guilty smile, confirming that he'd been less than honest with her just then.

"I don't think that's it," Luna observed lightly.

"Okay," Draco challenged, propping himself up on one elbow and staring her down. "Why didn't I register, then?"

Rather than rise to his baiting, Luna answered seriously, "Only very powerful wizards can become Animagi. Being one would draw attention to you. I think you like for people to underestimate you," she decided. "That way, they leave you alone."

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying and failing to think of a response. Luna smiled triumphantly and rolled onto her back again, leaving him irritated by her insightfulness.

"Maybe I just think registering is a stupid law," he grumped, flopping onto his back. The exhaustion was taking over again; weariness slurred his words.

"Maybe," she agreed doubtfully.

A short silence fell between them. Draco could feel himself drifting, the anxiety and the terror bleeding away to leave him utterly drained. His eyelids fell shut.

"Draco?" Luna sounded as sleepy as he felt.

"Mmm-hmm?"

"What happens now?"

He was too tired just then to think about everything that remained to be done, every piece on the chessboard he still needed to maneuver into place if he hoped to escape from Voldemort. But for Luna, Draco made an effort to be upbeat.

"We'll wake up, go back to McGonagall's office, wait until we've left, and then go in and wait for her to return. Nothing to it."

"I didn't mean this morning," Luna persisted. "I mean, what do we do _now_?"

Draco sighed. He knew what she meant; he'd just been hoping she wouldn't push the issue until later. "Well," he answered tiredly, "now you have to convince Potter that I'm one of the good guys. I suppose the rest is up to him."

"Oh." Luna sounded relieved. "So the hard part's over."

Draco didn't know whether to be infuriated or amused by that. Was she so convinced of her hold on Potter that she thought persuading him to trust his life-long nemesis would be easy? Remembering how she and Potter had floated down the steps of the Owlery hand-in-hand only the night before, Draco reflected with sudden sourness that she probably had reason to believe that.

If anything, facing down death beside Luna had only made Draco like her more. He knew it was foolish to be angry that she had chosen Potter – it wasn't like she would have chosen Draco otherwise. Whatever feelings he had for Luna, Draco was certain they were one-sided. Besides, he couldn't honestly say that he would have acted on those feelings even if Luna had shared them. They were from different worlds. They had nothing in common, not their families or their friends or their interests, aside from defeating Voldemort. And they even wanted that for different reasons.

"Are you asleep?"

Draco almost didn't answer, but fighting side-by-side made it more difficult than he'd anticipated to lie to Luna, so he sighed resignedly. "Not yet."

"I was just thinking that it's too bad we can't tell anyone about this. I wanted to tell my dad what it really looks like for a werewolf to transform."

In spite of himself, Draco grinned. Leave it to Luna to see the whole sordid mess he'd landed them in as an adventure. "Yeah," he teased gently. "This would make one bloody good story for _The Quibbler, _wouldn't it?"

Luna laughed. The sound was contagious; Draco found himself laughing along with her, causing a pain to shoot through his injured ribs. He gasped.

Quick as a flash, Luna was sitting up, ready to rush to his side. He waved for her to stay put. "I'm all right," he assured her. "Just don't make me laugh."

A touch of color pinked Luna's cheeks. Falling back onto her pillow, she confessed, "I didn't know that was something I could do. Make you laugh."

Draco shut his eyes. He wanted to tell her that she had no idea what effect she had on him, an effect no other girl had ever had, but he knew how idiotic it would sound, so he kept his mouth shut, and before long Luna's deep, even breathing told him she had fallen asleep.

Better to stick to the plan, Draco decided grimly, where the only thing he was in danger of losing was his life.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Truth

By the next day, Sunday, at lunch, Hogwarts was fairly buzzing with the news of Fenrir Greyback's capture. The front page of _The Daily Prophet _carried the story – which, in spite of a flashy headline ("Deadly Werewolf Greyback in Azkaban") and an impressive photo of Mad-Eye Moody hauling the still-transformed werewolf into the wizards' prison, actually offered very little in the way of details. Certainly the real story wasn't reported. The paper simply said that Moody had presented the wanted killer to the Minister of Magic late Friday night, and a special tribunal had convened to sentence Greyback to life in Azkaban. The _Prophet _assumed, naturally, that the decorated Auror Moody had been the one to catch Greyback, and Moody had not disabused them of that notion.

Luna didn't mind Mad-Eye Moody taking the credit. She did, however, privately reflect that _The Quibbler _would have been much more thorough in its fact-checking. So much for mainstream media.

At breakfast, Luna smiled pleasantly while her Ravenclaw classmates guessed at how soon Greyback would undergo the Dementor's kiss. A horrible fate, to be sure, one Luna normally didn't support. Yet having seen Greyback in action, she couldn't quite summon any sympathy for his fate. Two moments more, and he would have been ripping her throat out, of that she had no doubt.

Once, Luna's eyes met Draco's across the crowded, noisy hall. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a grin so fleeting she might have imagined it, but the brief contact set her heart to fluttering wildly anyway. She carefully averted her gaze from the Slytherin table after that, though she couldn't help wondering how Draco was concealing his triumph from his glowering Housemates – their loathing of werewolves aside, Slytherins weren't keen to celebrate an Auror victory.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Luna noted that Draco's ploy to let his aunt Bella glimpse him as Harry Potter had not gone unremarked by those with connections inside You-Know-Who's inner circle (namely, Professor Snape). Harry, Ron, and Hermione had their heads together and were whispering furiously; Luna was fairly sure she knew what they were discussing, since she'd spotted Harry leaving the Headmaster's office on her way to breakfast, no doubt answering questions about how he'd managed to appear at Malfoy Manor when he was supposed to be tucked in bed at Hogwarts.

Luna actually hadn't spoken to Harry since Friday night, which was unusual for them these days. As soon as McGonagall had returned to her office the day before, Luna and Draco, each feeling the effects of their long night, had swiftly finished their work. Too tired to stay on her feet, Luna had retreated to her bed, claiming a headache when Padma Patil inquired why she was sleeping the beautiful fall day away.

Now, Luna was eager to get Harry alone so she could reveal the truth of what had happened with Greyback. She thought it might be difficult to do; he, Ron and Hermione tended to closet themselves away when it came time to solve mysteries. Apparently, the enmity between Ron and Hermione was still going strong, though, because Luna hadn't even made it out of the Great Hall when Hermione stormed past her, eyes glistening with tears. A glance over her shoulder showed Luna the likely source of Hermione's distress: Ron was sitting beside Lavender, lost in gooey looks that turned Luna's stomach.

Harry, walking toward her from the Gryffindor table, rather pointedly avoided following her gaze. She could only imagine how sick he was of Ron and Lavender's public displays of affection.

"Hey, Luna," he greeted her glumly. "Want to go for a walk?"

It was a lovely day for the middle of October, one of the last they were likely to enjoy before the cold weather set in for real. Off to the east, storm clouds loomed, but for now the sun shone brightly in a periwinkle-blue sky, taking the bite out of the brisk north wind.

Luna and Harry walked to the lake in companionable silence. At least it was companionable for Luna. For his part, Harry looked troubled.

Luna waited just until they were alone by the water's edge and then came right out with her story. "I know why Dumbledore called you to his office this morning, Harry."

Harry's green eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"He thinks you were at the Malfoys' mansion when Greyback was captured." If possible, Harry's eyes opened even wider. "I suspect Professor Snape told him that's what Bellatrix Lestrange is saying."

Dumbfounded, Harry gaped at her for a full minute. When he could speak again, he stammered, "But how…Luna, how could you know that?"

"Because," Luna answered airily, waving Harry down onto a large black rock sticking up out of the lake's muddy shore, "I was there."

She told him everything, starting with the note she'd received on the Hogwarts Express and working up to the previous day. Harry stared unseeingly across the inky-black water as Luna recounted her tale, his face revealing none of his feelings.

Well, to say she told him everything wasn't entirely true. Luna held back about how it felt to be in Draco's presence, how her palms started to sweat and her pulse quickened whenever he turned that intense blue gaze on her. Some things nobody else needed to know. She supposed she might tell Ginny at some point, because Ginny, though not a fan of Draco's, was the most understanding, least judgmental person Luna knew, the closest thing she had to a girl friend. And since Ginny also had a boyfriend, she would probably be able to advise Luna on whether or not what she was feeling amounted to anything other than a silly, ill-conceived crush.

Harry was silent for a long time after Luna finished. She stood and strolled a short distance away, examining the colorful rocks that lined the muddy bank, so as not to crowd him while he processed her story. She knew it was a lot to take in. She only half-believed most of it, and it had happened to her.

"You could have been killed. Or worse."

Luna, tucking a lime-green rock shaped something like a seahorse into her pocket, smiled to herself. She wasn't surprised that Harry's first thought was for her safety, but she was touched nonetheless.

Walking back to him, she shrugged off the danger she'd faced. "I told you, Harry, your friends are with you, no matter what."

"I'm glad Greyback's in Azkaban, don't get me wrong. But this…" Harry shook his head. "You can't expect me to trust Draco Malfoy, Luna."

"I don't." Luna spoke with her usual light pleasantness, yet she met Harry's gaze directly, letting him see that she was serious. "I just expect you to trust me enough to talk to him."

When Harry started to protest, Luna reasoned, "You shouldn't take my word for it. You need to decide for yourself if he's telling the truth."

An ugly scowl marred Harry's handsome features. "Malfoy, tell the truth? Not bloody likely."

Luna bit her bottom lip, disappointed by Harry's response. Perhaps she had underestimated how deep Harry's disgust for Draco ran. She didn't blame him for those feelings; for six years, Draco had espoused every Pureblood belief Harry despised. Maybe she was hoping for too much to think Harry might be able to lay all that aside, to see Draco as something other than what he seemed to be. After all, You-Know-Who had cost Harry so much of what he loved, and in Harry's mind, she could see how Draco Malfoy would be inseparable from all that he was fighting against.

She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that Draco would have a harder time than she'd anticipated proving himself to Harry – those two had a lot of history to overcome. History that made it seem impossible they would ever be anything close to friends, even if they ended up on the same side.

_And what's wrong with believing in the impossible?_

Emboldened by that happy thought, Luna seated herself on the rock beside Harry and rested her hand gently on his arm. She knew Harry. Whatever his personal distaste for Draco, he would do the right thing. Only, everybody needed to be reminded what the right thing was sometimes.

"I told Draco you were a fair person, Harry." She spoke evenly, not pushing him, not making demands. "I told him you would hear him out."

Harry continued to glare. Not at her, Luna knew, but at the thought of Draco securing promises from her.

"He's got to be hiding something."

"I'm sure he is," Luna agreed, meaning it. After what she'd witnessed last night, she was first in line to believe that Draco Malfoy had more than his fair share of secrets. She wasn't naïve enough to think he'd revealed all of them yet. "But he really is frightened, Harry."

That thought worked on Harry, as Luna had known it would: Harry didn't like the idea of anyone, not even Draco Malfoy, falling victim to You-Know-Who.

She pulled the green stone out of her pocket, turned Harry's hand over, and placed the small rock in his palm."Do you think this looks a bit like a seahorse?"

Harry laughed. Luna smiled to hear it. "A little," he conceded. "Do seahorses have some special magical properties I don't know about?"

"Probably. I've never actually seen one in real life. Have you?"

"Come to think of it, no, I haven't."

"I wonder if they live in the lake." She turned hopefully toward the dark water.

Harry shook his head. "I've been down there," he reminded her, recalling the Triwizard Tournament during her third year. "I think it's mostly Merpeople and the giant squid."

"I've always wanted to meet the giant squid. He never seems to be around when I'm here. It's a shame, really," Luna sighed. "I know Dad would love some pictures. I wonder if he looks anything like a seahorse?"

"More like an octopus, I'd imagine. Though," Harry added fairly, "I've never seen one of those in real life, either."

A friendly silence lingered between them as Luna watched the water, vaguely hoping for the giant squid to make an appearance. Finally, sliding the oddly-shaped rock off Harry's palm and returning it to her pocket, Luna advised, "Talk to Draco, Harry. Hear what he has to say. If you don't believe him," she took a deep breath, hating what she was about to promise even though she meant it, "I won't help him anymore."

Harry grudgingly nodded his assent. Suddenly, he brightened. "C'mon." He took her hand to help her down from the slippery rock. "You go talk to Malfoy. Tell him we'll meet tonight, on top of the Astronomy Tower."

Happiness bloomed inside Luna. She skipped along beside Harry, beaming at everyone they passed. No one found that strange, as Luna was known for her sunny disposition as much as her many oddities.

"What about you?" she asked. "Where are you going?"

"To see Hermione."

Harry's steps slowed. Luna stopped, too, waiting. He looked down seriously into her eyes.

"I'm not making any promises here, Luna. I don't trust Malfoy."

Luna just smiled. She was quite confident that would change soon.

Draco spent most of the day hiding out in the library, one place Crabbe and Goyle were unlikely to spend much time. Just before lunch, Luna had finally arrived at their agreed-upon meeting point on the edge of the Forest to tell him Potter wanted to talk with him that very night, at eight o'clock sharp on the Astronomy Tower. She hadn't stayed to talk. Pansy Parkinson, who was feeling particularly clingy of late, had been headed toward them across the windswept grounds, and it wouldn't have done for Draco to appear friendly with Luna Lovegood.

Draco had to use an overdue Potions essay for Slughorn as an excuse to escape Pansy's attentions. Once in the library, he'd stayed there, to avoid the trouble of extricating himself from the Slytherin common room later without drawing attention.

A spectacular storm was brewing off to the east when Draco climbed to the highest point of Hogwarts castle that evening. A cold wind whistled through the trees in the dark forest. The sound reminded Draco of Greyback's werewolf howl. He shuddered, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his school robes, nerves more than a little raw from the previous day's adventure and the ordeal still ahead of him.

He wished he would have had more time with Luna this morning, to get a sense of where Potter's head was. Not that he didn't already know, Draco mused sourly. Whatever powers of persuasion Luna had over her new beau, Draco was certain Potter wouldn't accept his olive branch easily.

At least he didn't have to suffer the suspense for long: Moments after he reached the tower, Draco heard footsteps behind him. He turned to find Luna approaching, her honey-blonde curls bouncing and her usual dreamy smile perpetually in place. She was followed by a dour-looking Potter and, to Draco's surprise, Hermione Granger, looking as uncomfortable as Draco felt.

"What's she doing here?"

In hindsight, Draco realized it probably didn't help his case to start off being sharp about Granger, whom he had once cursed as a Mudblood. Potter flushed angrily.

Luna, who seemed oblivious to the tension, continued to smile. "You can trust Hermione, Draco."

Potter snorted. "That's rich. _He _can trust _us_?"

"It's all right, Harry. Let's just hear him out." Granger caught Draco's eye. The look she gave him wasn't exactly friendly, but it did suggest that she'd just done him a favor. He nodded almost imperceptibly to show his thanks.

An awkward silence descended. Draco clenched his fists at his sides. This was proving to be harder than he'd imagined. Asking for Luna's help had been one thing; admitting his helplessness to Potter was quite another. As many times as he'd hoped for this meeting, Draco had never been entirely sure what he would say, and now his pride was preventing him just confessing how trapped he really was.

_Well, then, lead with what you have to offer. _

"Right," Draco began, looking coldly down his nose at Potter, who stood with his arms folded obstinately across his chest. "I guess Luna's told you why I'm here. I want to help you stop Voldemort coming back to power."

"Yeah. She told me." Potter's scathing tone made it clear how little he believed Draco's change of heart – though he did look sufficiently impressed that Draco had dared call the Dark Lord by name.

"And did she tell you that I'm the reason Fenrir Greyback is in Azkaban tonight?" Draco felt a smug pleasure when Potter didn't have an immediate comeback to that. "I can help you, Potter."

"Help me?" Potter laughed mirthlessly. "Last year, what were you doing while your dad was trying to kill me _and _Luna in the Department of Mysteries? Oh, right," Potter answered his own question sarcastically. "You were bullying little kids on that toad Umbridge's orders. Give me one reason why I should believe you want to help me now."

Draco gritted his teeth. The damnable part was, he knew he deserved Potter's loathing. He knew he had been a snide, arrogant, slimy git. He had no right to expect Potter's trust, let alone his help, and that was what made coming to Potter like this so difficult – because no matter how much help Draco really could offer (and he believed his services would not be inconsequential), he was still asking Potter for a favor, anyway he sliced it.

But Draco didn't have much choice. At the moment, his options were to die trying to murder Dumbledore, or to die for failing to kill Dumbledore, or to help Potter defeat Voldemort.

Granger stepped in, purposefully avoiding Draco's eyes. "Harry, I know you're angry, but maybe we should just stick to the plan."

Plan? There was a plan? Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wheeling on Luna with an accusing glare, but she looked as sincerely baffled as he was.

"What plan?" Draco demanded tightly, his gaze shifting between Potter and Granger.

Potter glared back at him defiantly. Granger blushed guiltily, which told Draco a rule of some sort was about to be broken.

"You want us to trust you," Potter rejoined haughtily, so full of himself Draco wanted to punch him out right there, "then you're going to have to prove yourself."

Draco controlled his anger by sheer force of will. _Think of what Voldemort will do to your mother if he finds out what you've done, _he ordered himself. _Think of what he'll do to your father. You can do this. _

Swallowing a nasty retort, Draco arched his eyebrows expectantly, as if to say, _Get on with it. _Granger, looking thoroughly miserable, produced a bottle of Butterbeer from the pocket of her robe and held it out to Draco.

Who just stared at her in confusion.

"If you're looking to loosen my tongue, Granger," he mused, "you might start with something a bit stronger."

Her blush deepening, Granger announced in a small voice, "It's been treated with Veritaserum. Three drops."

Luna frowned. Her obvious disapproval told Draco plainly she hadn't known what Potter intended to do. He hated to admit how much better that made him feel.

"Harry," Luna started to protest.

Draco cut her off. He had just seen an opening, a chance to capitalize on Potter's dislike for him – a way to make Luna question how wonderful her new beau really was while proving himself trustworthy in the process. It meant taking a risk, of course, because once he swallowed the potion, Draco would have no choice but to answer all of Potter's questions truthfully. And there were some secrets that, for the moment, Draco wanted to remain hidden.

Still, Draco understood Potter, and he suspected that, regardless of his show of bravado, Potter was feeling about as low as Granger so obviously did right then. Veritaserum was cleaner than the Cruciatus curse, obviously, yet it was nevertheless an interrogation technique, a way to force someone to tell the truth by stripping him of his freewill. Potter was stooping to Draco's level, and Draco was certain The Chosen One was squirming with guilt on the inside – which meant he was unlikely to push too hard on Draco's deep, dark secrets.

"It's fine," Draco declared. Luna made to protest again, but he waved her into silence. He took the Butterbeer from Granger's trembling fingers. "You made this, Potter?"

"No," Harry answered stiffly. "Hermione and I lifted it from Slughorn's stores."

Draco smirked. He couldn't resist a dig at Potter's wizarding abilities. "Good. I wouldn't want to be poisoned."

Before Potter could respond to that jibe, Draco lifted the bottle to his lips, quipped, "Your good health, Potter," and tipped the potion down his throat.

For one fleeting instant, Draco hoped the potion wouldn't work. Veritaserum wasn't foolproof; its effects could be overcome by someone sufficiently skilled at deception, and Draco was more than capable when it came to Occlumency. But those hopes were dashed as he felt the potion immediately start to work: The sensation was like having the little strings of tissue that connected parts of his brain together snipped free, one by one.

Draco swayed a little on the spot. Luna caught his elbow, steadying him. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice thick with worry. She shot Harry an uncharacteristically dark look.

"Fine." Draco smiled thinly at her, playing up the wounded victim card more than was strictly necessary. He turned to Potter, who was looking less and less pleased with his grand plan by the moment.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Potter glanced at Granger, then at Luna. "Over here." He pointed to the railing that surrounded the tower, a good distance away from the girls – far enough that they wouldn't be overheard. "I, uh, I thought we could talk alone."

Draco shrugged. Honestly, he preferred not to have an audience for this little q-and-a, but he wasn't about to ask for any further favors from Potter. Squeezing Luna's hand – he saw Potter stiffen at that and smirked privately – Draco followed his questioner to a far corner of the tower as the first flashes of lightning split the nighttime clouds.

Once they were alone, Potter got right down to business. "Do you really want to help me defeat Voldemort?"

The thing about Veritaserum, Draco was now learning firsthand, wasn't just that it made you tell the truth, if you chose to answer. He'd heard about Muggle versions of truth serum that supposedly made it difficult to lie; Veritaserum worked on a whole other level. Had Potter asked his question under normal circumstances, Draco would have considered it, decided whether or not to answer, and likely offered up some version of the truth. Under Veritaserum, he was literally compelled to answer – and to answer with nothing short of absolute honesty. It was as if the inner workings of his brain were under Potter's control now, not his own.

It was not a nice feeling.

"Yes," Draco answered.

Potter did a double-take at that. Draco could see him wondering if they'd perhaps stolen an old phial from Slughorn, a potion that had lost its power with age maybe. But he plunged ahead, sounding equal parts curious and scornful. "Why?"

"Because things aren't going so well for my family right now, you might've noticed," Draco answered woodenly. He couldn't stop himself answering, but he didn't have to be happy about it. "Voldemort wants revenge for my father failing him at the Ministry."

"Your father's in Azkaban," Potter interrupted. "What more punishment does he need?"

Draco glared at Potter, wondering if he displayed such lack of sensitivity for the families of people he considered friends. "To see his son in danger," Draco explained, unable to hold his tongue. "Voldemort has ordered me to kill Albus Dumbledore. He knows I can't do it," Draco continued, as Potter blanched, "and my punishment for failing will be to die. My father's punishment will be to know it's going to happen and not be able to do anything to stop it."

The twisted workings of Voldemort's mind no longer shocked Draco, though they seemed to unnerve Potter. He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "But you've always supported Voldemort," he insisted, as if determined to discover a hole in Draco's story. He stared searchingly into Draco's eyes. "I mean…Haven't you?"

So much for the questions not getting too personal…

Draco gritted his teeth, yet the words came out anyway. "I'm not like you, Potter. I didn't grow up believing in truth and goodness." Potter opened his mouth to argue, but Draco's words kept coming in an angry rush. "I never cared that much about 'Pureblood status' or all that, but it's what my father cared about, what he expected out of me, and I wanted him to be proud of me. So I tried to be the son he'd hoped I would be, and that meant saying I believed what he believed.

"Not that I particularly disagree with him, either," Draco confessed, because he had to. "I just don't care that much about all of it either way, whether we let in Mudbloods or torture house-elves or any of that. I certainly don't care enough about it to die for it."

Had he been able to craft his response instead of being forced to speak the truth, Draco would have offered a much more eloquent answer, of course. But, even as a fierce blush crept up his neck and he considered leaping to his death rather than endure anymore sharing time with Potter, Draco rationalized that the situation had probably worked out for the best. Potter would never have believed some phony tale of his conversion from the Dark Arts. The truth, unvarnished and ugly though it was, seemed to square with Potter's conception of Draco, because, even as he sniffed in disgust, he was obviously persuaded that Draco really meant to help him fight Voldemort.

Potter also looked as embarrassed as Draco felt – he didn't seem interested in hearing tales of Draco's screwed-up childhood anymore than Draco wanted to reveal them. Turning away, Potter rested his elbows on the tower's railing and concentrated on the ominous dark clouds rolling in from the east.

After a moment, Draco joined him, neither of them looking at the other.

The Veritaserum was wearing off. Draco could feel his mind clearing, returning to normal, though he was still under its effects enough to be forced to answer when Potter asked, "So why Luna?"

"Because you trust her." Draco didn't mind answering that question, actually – he saw no benefit in lying about it.

"I trust Hermione, too," Potter pointed out.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Yes, well, I can't really imagine Granger deciding to hear me out, can you?"

"No," Potter agreed, grinning. He continued to stare at the lightning illuminating the dark clouds from underneath. "She'd have cursed you into the ground. Same as anyone besides Luna, I suppose."

"Precisely."

Another brief silence ensued. Potter broke it by asking, "Okay, so, why Greyback?"

Draco sensed that this question was important to Potter, more important than he'd imagined it would be. Weren't all Voldemort's minions equally undesirable to the Chosen One?

Again, he answered honestly. "I thought about going after my aunt Bella first, because she murdered Sirius Black."

Potter winced; Draco didn't care. If Potter could glibly allude to Lucius Malfoy's suffering in Azkaban, Draco thought it only fair that he should discuss the murder of Potter's godfather without remorse.

"I knew you'd want revenge. But I couldn't see how to get to her without revealing myself to Voldemort, which would've defeated the purpose, obviously. So then I thought you'd be impressed if I could take out someone really dangerous, someone you'd want to see stopped, and I knew I could stop Greyback."

Draco thought for a minute that Potter might be leading up to asking him about being an Animagus. Perhaps, Draco reflected, his ability, one Potter didn't share, was what had the Boy Who Lived so concerned.

Instead, Potter pressed, "It wasn't because of Lupin?"

Draco drew a blank on the name at first. "Lupin?" he echoed. "You mean Remus Lupin? The werewolf?" Potter nodded. Still confused, Draco said, "I know he's a friend of yours, but you don't have some kind of policy about not attacking werewolves, do you?"

"Of course not. I just thought…" Potter studied Draco's bewildered expression and, apparently deciding his confusion was genuine, explained, "I thought maybe you knew that Greyback was the one who bit Lupin."

"Oh." A mental image of the quiet, bedraggled Professor Lupin, looking weaker and wearier after every full moon, appeared before Draco's eyes. "No, I didn't know that. Doesn't matter," he shrugged. "Greyback's foul, even for a werewolf. He needed to be locked up."

They were quiet for a while after that. Thunder rumbled nearer and nearer; the wind was reaching gale-force, bending the trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest almost to the ground. The temperature was dropping rapidly. Though the Astronomy Tower was not the wisest place to ride out such a storm, Draco waited. His mind was his own now, but he knew Potter's questions weren't at an end.

Besides, he had one very important question of his own to ask.

"So." Potter scuffed the toe of his trainer along the ground. "Did you have some kind of plan here, or what?"

Plan? Wasn't Potter supposed to be the one with the plan?

_Like he's going to reveal that to you, whatever it is._

Right. Draco needed to earn his keep first – no free passes with the Chosen One, he noted acidly.

"I have some ideas," Draco replied carefully. "But before you ask me anything else, I think you ought to know your potion's worn off."

Potter did a double-take at Draco's honesty. But then he shrugged, either because he didn't care or because he didn't have any Veritaserum left to dose Draco with. "Whatever. Go on."

"Voldemort expects me to be coming up with a plan to kill Dumbledore. He doesn't expect me to succeed, but he expects me to be trying. I was thinking," Draco drew in a deep breath, knowing he would be putting Potter's shaky trust to the test here, "that I could report back to the Death Eaters that I've befriended you in secret, as a way to get closer to Dumbledore."

Suspicion clouded Potter's features, yet he didn't interrupt.

"From your perspective, I guess what I've mostly got to offer is information. I don't know everything about what Voldemort's got planned, not by a long shot, but I do know that he's looking for something. Something to do with wandlore. That's why the Death Eaters kidnapped Ollivander. And," Draco concluded, a little smugly, "I happen to know where they're keeping him."

That did the trick. "Can you get us in?" Potter asked eagerly.

"I think so, though it might be difficult after last night." Seeing Potter's bewilderment, Draco clarified, "Voldemort's keeping Ollivander in the cellar of my parents' house."

The idea of a rescue mission obviously appealed to Potter, but his suspicions remained, holding him back. "Why didn't you just go to Dumbledore with all of this? Why bother coming to me at all?"

Draco collected his thoughts – he was leading up to his own, most pressing question. "If I'd gone to Dumbledore, he would've told Snape I was defecting."

Potter's mouth twisted into a grimace of dislike at the name of his least-favorite professor. He faced Draco with frank skepticism, however.

"You don't trust Snape? Thought you were one of his pets."

Draco could understand why Potter would doubt that they shared the same opinion of Snape. To be fair, Snape had always favored Draco, especially when it offered their former Potions professor a chance to humiliate Potter, whom he detested.

"I don't have a problem with Snape personally," Draco admitted. "But I don't believe he ever stopped being a Death Eater."

Surprise crossed Potter's features. Draco realized that, so far as Potter was concerned, Draco should never have had any reason to think that Snape had stopped being a Death Eater. Because Draco wasn't supposed to know that Snape was in the Order of the Phoenix.

He hurried to explain, "My aunt Bella has a big mouth. She's always on about how Snape can't be trusted, that he really does serve Dumbledore now. She's convinced he's really part of this Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore's got going.

"I know Dumbledore's no fool – he wouldn't have someone teaching at this school if he thought they were a Death Eater. But I've seen Snape with Voldemort," Draco insisted, meaning every word. "I can't believe he's not still a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. Snape worships him."

Whether because Draco had just confirmed what Potter himself believed or because he heard the ring of truth in Draco's words, Potter accepted that. But Draco had another reason for not going to Dumbledore, one he now put on the table, trying hard to sound nonchalant.

"Besides, I hear you're the one who's going to defeat Voldemort, not Dumbledore."

The storm faded into the background as Potter and Draco stared one another down. Draco half-expected Potter to turn and walk away, dismissing the possibility of an alliance without another word, but to Draco, it was a risk worth taking.

He was betting everything on Potter. He wanted to know if it was a smart gamble to make.

"And what if I told you that everyone's wrong? That the Prophecy didn't say that I'm 'the Chosen One'?" Potter challenged at last, when the silence was broken by another impressive crash of thunder. "Would you still want to help me?"

Cold raindrops began to splatter the ground, yet Draco took a moment to mull over Potter's question, ignoring the icy wind. Finally, he decided, "Yes, I'd still help you."

"Why's that?"

Draco surprised himself by having a ready answer. "Because sooner or later, Voldemort will find out that I'm the one who brought down Greyback. Nothing stays secret from him forever. I'd be branded as a traitor, good as dead. And," Draco added, deciding he might as well go all-out with the honesty, "you're the only person I think has a chance against him, Prophecy or not."

There, he'd said it. He'd admitted, to Potter's face, that he respected him as a wizard equal to Voldemort and Dumbledore. Draco would much rather have taken that particular secret to his grave, but if Potter didn't manage to stop Voldemort soon, that was exactly where Draco was headed. In the end, his loathing for Potter wasn't worth Draco's life anymore than his father's ridiculous Pureblood beliefs were.

"It's true." Potter's revelation caught Draco off-guard; he'd assumed their little exchange was over with his own confession. Their gazes met and held, emerald-green on sapphire-blue. "The Prophecy, I mean. I'm the Chosen One."

Potter waited a moment before adding, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to win."

Draco shivered. The blast of frigid rain soaking through their robes gave him an excuse to do that, but his reaction had nothing to do with the cold. He realized that he'd been counting on Potter's defeat of Voldemort being written in stone, something foretold by fate, something irrefutable. A surefire way out of the mess Draco had found himself in. Now, he understood, for the first time really, that Potter's life hung in the balance here, too.

_Good thing I still have a few tricks I haven't played yet._

"Harry!" Granger was shouting to be heard over the violent wind. Draco turned toward her voice; she and Luna were huddled together in the doorway leading back down the stairs, shivering with cold. "Harry, we need to get inside! We can't stay here!"

"She's right." Potter inclined his head for Draco to follow. "Let's go."

In the empty stairwell, Granger conjured a handful of bright blue flames to warm them. Luna smiled cheerfully at Draco, amazing him with her sublime confidence that everything had gone well with Potter.

"So?" Granger prompted, looking from Potter to Draco. "What's happening?"

"Malfoy's going to work with us," Potter told her, holding his hands out to the dancing flames. Draco bestowed a quick, cold smile on Granger, who was eyeing him warily.

Luna piped up, "So, what do we do next, Harry?"

It was Granger who answered. "I think," she offered slowly, unable to meet Draco's eyes directly, "that we need to get the D.A. together again."

"Why?" Potter asked Draco's question for him.

"Because I think Draco has things he could teach us."

No one was more surprised at that than Draco, but Luna immediately nodded. "I think so, too. You must know a lot of spells the Death Eaters use," she added in an aside to Draco.

Potter spluttered indignantly, "We're not going to teach people the Dark Arts, Luna!"

Granger cut him off. "Think about it, Harry. Draco can show us what we'll be facing. He can help us learn how to fight back."

"We did all right at the Ministry," Potter argued.

"No, we didn't." Granger bit her lip, obviously pained at having to remind her friend of how disastrously their break-in to the Department of Mysteries had ended.

Draco became very interested in his shoelaces. He wasn't risking his newfound status as a member of the Potter club by getting in the middle of _this _fight.

"We were lucky any of us got out of their alive, Harry. We have to know what they know, just like the Aurors do. Only we can't wait for Auror training. We have to fight, and we have to fight now."

Draco cleared his throat. Luna smiled encouragingly at him; Potter was glaring openly at Granger, who cringed but refused to retract her argument.

"I can show you things," Draco offered. "Aunt Bella taught me a lot this summer, and other things I've…picked up, I guess you'd say. It's your call," he deferred to Potter, certain he saw Granger smile knowingly at that particular ploy. "But if it's what you want, I can help you."

For a long moment, the only sounds were the wind howling outside and the flames crackling at their feet. At last, Potter nodded curtly.

"All right," he decided. "Here's what we're going to do."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Everything Changes

And so Draco Malfoy's double life began.

Of course he didn't instantly declare himself Potter's closest mate. No one would have believed that – it would merely have aroused the sort of suspicion about his motives he needed desperately to avoid. Instead, he started doing what he realized he'd actually been doing for weeks already, the more friendly he became with Luna: He spent less and less time in the company of his Slytherin Housemates, and when he was around them, he became more and more withdrawn. He stopped bullying those weaker than himself; he stopped commenting when his Housemates made fun of Potter and his friends; he stopped saying much of anything to anyone, really.

Most of his Housemates left him alone. Certainly no one bothered to ask if he was all right, which Draco normally wouldn't have found odd, but after being around Luna he recognized that if his so-called friends had actually cared anything about him, they would have shown at least a modicum of concern over his behavior. Even Pansy Parkinson, whom he had believed was all but in love with him, seemed to accept this new, brooding version of Draco without worrying – or caring – that something might be wrong.

Behind the scenes, Draco did take two very important and quite bold steps to further his plan to help Potter defeat Voldemort. First, a few days after his meeting with Potter, Draco sent an owl to his mother and aunt Bella, which read:

_Have found a way to be of use. Don't worry if you hear about my new friends. See you at Christmas, Draco_

Draco hoped the explanation was sufficiently lame to convince the Dark Lord that he really was trying to get close to Dumbledore in order to kill him – and failing miserably, as Voldemort had intended. Draco knew his letter would be in the Dark Lord's hands before nightfall and that Voldemort would undoubtedly pay a visit to Malfoy Manor at Christmas to question him about his progress. Draco didn't relish having to prove his loyalty when the holidays arrived, but until then, he figured he had two months to keep practicing Occlumency.

Terrifying as the prospect of facing Voldemort was, soon Draco had plenty of other troubles to occupy his mind, as his second step was to be introduced to Potter's followers in Dumbledore's Army.

Draco had been dreading that particular encounter almost as much as his battle with Greyback, because it meant asking forgiveness from a roomful of people he'd spent five years belittling and bullying. The first meeting, just one short week after Greyback's capture, proved to be everything Draco had feared.

Potter was actually much kinder about it all than Draco knew he had any right to expect. Standing in front of an astonished mix of more than a dozen Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Potter obviously said nothing about Voldemort's plans to kill Dumbledore (as he and Draco had agreed – not even Luna knew about that). He simply insisted that Draco wanted to help them and that he, Harry, believed Draco's change of heart was genuine.

"You're not seriously asking us to trust this git, are you?" Seamus Finnigan demanded, backed up by a scowling Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Michael Corner and Zacharias Smith. Smith in particular looked outraged, given that Draco had singled him out for abuse just a few short weeks before, when he was trying to return himself to the top of the biggest-bully pile in Slytherin House.

Weasley, for his part, looked ready to explode with murderous rage.

Draco stood stiffly beside Potter in front of the angry mob. He would have preferred to hide in the back of the room, except he didn't want to look like a coward. On Draco's other side stood Luna, placed there of her own accord. Much as he appreciated the show of solidarity, Draco wished she wasn't in the line of fire in case someone decided to fire off a curse at him (which was looking more and more like a real possibility), but Luna, as usual, appeared unconcerned, serenely surveying the ugly scene playing out before them.

On Potter's other side stood Draco's remaining unlikely allies: Granger, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, and Weasley's little sister Ginny, who was glaring daggers at everyone who dared descent from Harry's decision – including her boyfriend, Dean Thomas.

"I trust him," Potter responded evenly. "And I have my reasons. There are things he can teach us – "

"I'll bet," Weasley snorted. The loathing he felt for Draco was clearly etched across his face; Draco fought back the urge to smirk at him, knowing that provoking a brawl with Weasley, while entertaining, would be counterproductive. "Like how to attack Muggle-borns and torture innocent people half to death?"

Draco saw Longbottom wince at that, no doubt thinking of his own poor parents, driven mad by torture at the hands of Draco's Aunt Bella. Weasley's little sister must have seen it, too, because she snapped, "That's enough, Ron."

When he started to shout her down, she threatened to show him her Bat-Bogey hex, at which point Weasley wisely subsided to grumbling in the corner.

The rest of the group continued to look downright mutinous until Luna stepped forward and suggested brightly, "Show them how you defeated Greyback, Draco."

The angry mob fell instantly silent, intrigued in spite of their intense disliking for Draco. Even Weasley shut up and contented himself with scowling fiercely from the far side of the room.

Draco looked to Potter for permission. This was, after all, the Chosen One's show.

Potter quickly nodded, seeing an opportunity to quiet his comrades' ire. "Show us."

Obediently, Draco took a step forward, drew in a deep breath – closed his eyes – centered himself – and transformed.

Gasps of fear and surprise filled the room as the great silver panther took Draco's place. Privately, Draco was pleased at the reaction: Striking awe into the hearts of his former enemies beat groveling for their forgiveness any day.

Draco had no idea why his Animagus form was a panther. He'd never been able to produce a Patronus; after hearing that Potter could do it, Draco had tried and tried, but the art simply eluded him. So the first time he had managed to Transfigure himself had been the first time Draco had ever seen the outward reflection of his inner being. He had been relieved then, and was immensely thankful now, that his animal form was something majestic and powerful, not something gross or weak, like a rat.

Still, Draco hadn't pressed on what transforming into a panther might say about his true self. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he wanted to know himself quite that well.

Now, the panther paced slowly between the students, cautious of the wands pointed instinctively in its direction. Luna alone walked fearlessly toward the creature. Potter put out a hand to hold her back, but she shrugged him off lightly, saying, "It's only Draco, Harry. He wouldn't hurt me."

In his animal state, Draco retained all of his human thoughts, but his emotions were much simpler, allowing him to experience the pleasure of Luna's complete, unfettered trust in him fully for the first time. When she reached out and stroked the top of his head, just between the ears, he was experienced such uninhibited happiness that a deep, contented purr rumbled out of the great cat.

The sound broke the tension, as Hannah Abbott and the Patil twins burst into laughter. Gradually, smiles spread across everyone's faces (excepting Weasley) as the panther sat back on its haunches and tilted its massive head to one side, inviting Luna to scratch behind his ear.

"Can I…I mean, can we all pet him?" Parvati Patil inquired timidly of Luna, as if the panther belonged to her.

"Ask him," Luna instructed, stepping back.

Parvati came hesitantly forward to stand in front of the huge cat, which was tall enough to reach her waist even while seated. She crouched to look into the creature's eyes, lifted a tentative hand, and asked, "May I?"

In response, the panther lifted its snout and gently nudged her hand with his nose. Parvati ran her fingertips lightly across the enormous square head, gasping in surprise. "His fur, it's-it's like velvet. Padma, come feel this!"

Before long, every girl in the room, excluding Granger, had come forward to pet the giant cat. Draco wasn't surprised that none of the boys joined in, and honestly, he preferred to have the girls' attention.

When Potter eventually called them back to order and Draco returned to his human form, earning another round of impressed nods even from Longbottom and Finnigan, the meeting began in earnest. Draco moved to stand quietly at the back of the room while Potter led his followers in a refresher course on protective spells.

"Okay, everyone," he called, after demonstrating with Colin Creevey how to protect oneself from a Disarming spell. "Choose a partner and let's practice for a while. Just Disarm one another, all right? No jinxes until everybody's had some practice."

"Want to work together?"

Draco hadn't realized Luna was standing right beside him until she spoke. He turned to find her smiling hopefully up at him, sublimely unaware of the dark looks a few D.A. members, most notably Weasley, continued to shoot Draco's way.

Soon, though, everyone, including Draco, was so absorbed in practicing that it was easy to forget the earlier unpleasantness. Potter walked around the room offering suggestions here and there. Little Dennis Creevey couldn't seem to block any of Anthony Goldstein's Disarming spells, and his wand kept ricocheting around the room, nearly hitting Terry Boot in the eye at one point. When Draco took his concentration off Luna (a mistake, as his wand went sailing through the air almost immediately), he noted with grudging respect that Potter truly seemed to be a good teacher: The youngest Creevey aside, everyone was soon able to protect against their partner's attacks.

"All right," Potter called at last, standing in front of them all again. "I think that's enough for this week. I know our fifth-years have their O.W.L.s to study for," Ginny groaned at the reminder, "and we've got Quidditch matches coming up, but I'd like to meet once a week from here on out, so keep your Galleons handy."

Draco arched an eyebrow at Luna. "Galleons?" he whispered.

By way of explanation, Luna held up what looked to be a real coin. "Hermione enchanted them," she explained in her usual airy way, "so we could get together without Umbridge knowing. See the numbers around the edge? They change to show the time and date of our next meeting."

In spite of himself, Draco was impressed by that bit of magic. He knew Granger was head and shoulders above most of their year, of course, but still, that was a Protean charm was pretty advanced stuff, not so different from how Voldemort communicated to his Death Eaters with the Dark Mark.

"I can give you one, if you like." Granger had apparently overheard them, because she moved hesitantly in their direction, her eyes not quite meeting Draco's.

He nodded stiffly. Like her, he wasn't sure how to behave now that they were on the same side. It felt wrong for her to be so forgiving, after the awful things Draco had said and done to her over the years.

"Thanks," he managed lamely.

The crowd was thinning now as the students hurried back to their common rooms. Potter had elected to meet in the Room of Requirement; Draco was sure Dumbledore would have allowed their group to meet in a regular classroom if Potter had asked, but given the dark magic Draco eventually intended to teach the D.A. members, they had chosen to keep meeting in secret. Hence the coins and the Room of Requirement.

Soon, just Draco, Luna, Potter, Granger, Weasley and Weasley's sister were left. Luna and Granger were cleaning up, using Hover charms to whisk cushions (used to protect anyone from hurting themselves if they were inadvertently knocked off their feet by someone's jinx) up against the walls. Potter looked hopefully at Weasley.

Draco could have told the Chosen One that he was barking up the wrong tree there. Weasley gestured rudely in Draco's direction, saying coldly, "You're barking mad if you think you can trust him, Harry. I don't care if he puts a dozen werewolves down, he's still Malfoy."

Potter held up a hand to silence Ginny, who looked ready to make good on her threat of the Bat-Bogey hex. "If you'd just listen, you'd understand."

Weasley cut him off. "You didn't think it was so important to involve me when you and Hermione went dashing off to your secret meeting the other night."

Ginny put in angrily, "How's anybody ever supposed to find you to do anything these days, Ron? You're always holed up in a broom cupboard with Lavender somewhere, sucking each other's faces off."

Weasley's face turned as red as his hair. Draco couldn't quite hide a grin, which proved to be a serious mistake – instantly, Weasley charged him, his fist connecting squarely with Draco's nose before Draco realized that he didn't intend to bother with wands.

"Stop it!"

Granger shocked Draco half to death by jumping in between them. She placed one hand placed firmly on Draco's chest (though he had made no move to retaliate, given that he was outnumbered by people who were, ostensibly, Weasley's friends) and with her other hand shoved Weasley backwards hard enough to make him stumble.

"Just stop it, Ron, you're being ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?" Weasley challenged, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hermione, it's _Malfoy._" The way he said Draco's name was like a curse. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you and Harry had been Imperiused or something. Think of everything he's done!"

"Yes, Ron, he's been positively foul to all of us," Granger agreed.

Draco, cuffing blood off his chin, wondered grimly if any of them even remembered he was in the room. They certainly didn't mind talking about him like he wasn't.

"But everything is different now," Granger continued hotly. "You-Know-Who – dammit, I mean, Voldemort – anyway he's back, and everybody has to choose a side. We're not children anymore."

Weasley huffed at that. "Meaning I'm acting like a child because I think trusting Malfoy is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

Granger's fury became icy in one heartbeat. Even Draco quailed from it a bit, and it wasn't directed at him. "Yes, Ron, you are acting like a child. So why don't you grow up and stop being such an idiot?"

Potter tried to interrupt then, as it looked like the quarrel was about to head into seriously troubled waters, but Weasley was having none of it: He threw his hands up in the air and stalked out of the room, leaving them all in awkward silence.

"Are you all right?"

That was Luna, laying a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. The blood still ran freely from his nose, but he nodded – all that was really hurt was his pride for not seeing Weasley's attack coming. Or maybe, he mused, it was for the best that he hadn't. Probably wouldn't have won him any points from Granger or Potter if he'd flattened their friend.

"I can fix it, if you like," Luna offered, eyeing Draco's nose.

Draco saw Potter, Granger and Ginny exchange an anxious glance. He had to admit, the idea of dreamy-eyed Luna performing a healing spell on him was more than a little anxious-making. Yet Luna had always been loyal to him, especially tonight when all of her friends were essentially calling for his head, so he hid his uncertainty and nodded calmly, pretending a confidence in her abilities he didn't actually feel.

Luna aimed her wand at the tip of his nose. "_Episkey_."

"Ouch!" Draco instinctively grabbed his nose, which felt white-hot one moment and ice-cold the next as the bone mended itself. Granger and Ginny gave a collective gasp.

"There," Luna said brightly, beaming at them all in turn. "It's fixed. Good meeting, Harry."

Even Draco, who was still rubbing the smarting bridge of his newly-mended nose, smiled at her assessment of the meeting that had ended so disastrously.

"I think it was a good start," Potter agreed, catching Draco's eye briefly. He casually linked his arm through Luna's; Granger took his other arm, and with Ginny leading them, the quartet started out of the room together.

Watching them, Draco was struck by an envy that had surprisingly little to do with the way Luna laid her head comfortably on Potter's shoulder, or even the fact that Potter was so obviously adored (albeit in different ways) by each of these three beautiful, intelligent girls. It was an envy that went back a long way, back into Draco's childhood, when he had longed for nothing more than to be as famous as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Long before he ever came to Hogwarts, when Draco had played make-believe with his toy knights (enchanted to move, speak, and fight on their own at his orders, while the miniature toy dragons in the set hissed small bursts of real flame), he had always pretended to be Harry Potter commanding forces against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No matter what his father said, it had seemed to Draco even then that the Dark Lord was the evil monster and Harry Potter the story's great hero. Draco recalled being almost beside himself with excitement when his mother had told him, the day his Hogwarts letter arrived, that the boy with the legendary lightning-shaped scar would be in his class. Draco had just known they would be in Slytherin together, since Harry Potter would have to be a great wizard and (in Draco's ten-year-old opinion) all great wizards were Slytherins. He was convinced they would be the best of friends.

Only Potter had turned his nose up at Draco's offer of friendship, preferring instead the attention of the pathetic, dirt-poor Ron Weasley, whose dad had some strange fixation with Muggles, of all things. That first year, Draco remembered, the insult had festered, but he would likely have forgotten it, have simply ignored Potter for the rest of their time at Hogwarts, if Potter hadn't always been in the spotlight – Dumbledore's golden boy, Triwizard Champion, the Chosen One.

At the end of their second year, when Potter had slain the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, Draco had known he would never be able to match Potter – not in the classroom, not on the Quidditch pitch, not in anything, anywhere. What Luna had said when they returned from fighting Greyback was true: Draco had made a conscious decision to let everyone think him mediocre, because he had known he would never be able to compete with Potter, regardless of how talented he was. And he simply couldn't stand to be reminded of that fact.

Watching pretty red-headed Ginny Weasley dance toward the door, laughing over her shoulder at something Potter had just said, and Hermione Granger, who had nearly died several times helping Potter, tuck herself cozily into his side, and Luna Lovegood, the single most amazing creature in Draco's entire acquaintance, smile sweetly up at the Boy Who Lived, Draco thought he finally understood why he had wanted to be Harry Potter all those years ago. Why he had come to loathe Potter so much over the past six years. It wasn't that Draco had ever really wanted to be famous. Fame wasn't the key. The key was to be loved, the way he had always known Potter had to be – because, in his heart of hearts, Draco had always known no one in his life, not even his parents, were likely to die for him.

_And they never will, _a small voice from deep inside Draco's heart, which reminded him distinctly of his father's, chided. _So you might as well satisfy yourself with getting out of this mess alive and not worry about making friends._

Potter hesitated at the door, casting a quizzical glance back at Draco. "Coming?"

Draco swiftly wiped all emotion from his face and wordlessly followed Potter and his friends out into the hall. He separated from them without a backward glance at the staircase, waving coolly in response to Luna's cheerful, "Good night, Draco!"

He had never spent an evening with people who cared more for one another, Draco was certain of that. And he was also certain that he had never been more alone.

"The boy is doing so well, Severus, I don't understand what you're so concerned about."

"So well?" Snape echoed, his cold voice thick with disbelief. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but that's not how I would describe Draco's…exploits." He nodded at the letter lying open on Dumbledore's knee. "He's ringed himself in with lies."

Dumbledore turned the letter over in his hand, ignoring Snape's not-so-casual survey of his withered fingers. The two were alone in Dumbledore's office, seated before a cheerily roaring fire, while the students slept off another excellent Halloween Feast.

"But you said Voldemort believes Draco is still intent on carrying out his mission," Dumbledore rejoined patiently. "You said he laughed when he gave you this to read." He held Draco's letter out to Snape, who slipped it back into the pocket of his long, flowing black robe.

"He laughed," Snape replied bitterly, "because he thinks Draco is desperate, and he's looking forward to questioning him at Christmas, to taunt Draco's parents."

Pouring himself another glass of oak-matured mead, his favorite, Dumbledore reasoned, "There you have it, Severus: Draco's deceptions are all working exactly as he wants them to. Voldemort has no idea that Draco was involved in Fenrir Greyback's capture, and he will have no reason now to be suspicious if he hears that Draco is in fact friends with Harry Potter."

Snape sighed impatiently. "Perhaps I'm not being clear. The Dark Lord intends to _question Draco._" He said the last two words slowly, emphasizing each. "The most accomplished Legilimens in the history of our world is going to try to see into a sixteen-year-old wizard's mind. A sixteen-year-old wizard who has quite a lot of secrets to hide."

"Draco has surprised you with his talents thus far. Perhaps it's time to start giving him the benefit of the doubt?" Dumbledore suggested lightly.

When Snape continued to frown into the fire, the Headmaster sighed. "I didn't realize you were so attached to the boy, Severus."

Grating an irritated glance toward his companion, Snape retorted, "Does it require special attachment for me to care whether someone lives or dies?"

"I will not allow Draco Malfoy to be killed." The ring of authority in Dumbledore's voice settled that dispute once and for all. Softening somewhat, Dumbledore went on, "But I sense your concern is about more than that, my old friend."

For a long while, Snape didn't answer: He just gazed into the dancing flames, which cast eerie shadows over the planes of his long, sad face. Dumbledore waited in patient silence, absently tracing patterns on the arm of his chair with his blackened, dead-looking fingers.

Finally, Snape leaned back and turned to look directly into the Headmaster's piercing blue eyes. "I've known Draco Malfoy since he was born. Right now, he's as happy as I've ever seen him. He has friends, real friends, probably for the first time in his life. And what you want him to do…"

Snape trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging there between them, unfinished.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "What I want him to do," he supplied, "means never being able to have an honest relationship with anyone in his life for as long as Voldemort lives." Jaw clenched, Snape nodded curtly. "I know you see the path Draco is headed down, Severus, and that you better than anyone know the pain it will cause him. It's the burden you have carried since the night Lilly Potter died."

Rather than respond to that, Snape offered bitterly, "I had hoped that Draco would turn out differently from his father. He has more spirit than Lucius ever had. But this…" The former Potions master shook his head slowly, his eyes once more on the fire. "You don't know what you're asking of him, Headmaster. If you did, I wonder if you would ask it."

"I would ask it." Dumbledore's even, automatic reply brought Snape's somber black gaze back up to his. Unflinchingly, Dumbledore continued, "I ask what is necessary to save our world from an evil that could destroy everything good and pure we value. Voldemort cannot be allowed victory. I will do whatever is needed to stop that from happening."

Snape recoiled slightly from the suddenly imperious wizard, as if he no longer recognized the person sitting beside him. "Does that include," he asked carefully, "James Potter's son?"

Dumbledore nodded once, confirming it. Abruptly, his sudden austerity deflated, leaving a tired, weary-looking old man smiling sadly at a long-time friend.

"I had hoped to spare us all so much pain," he remarked softly, almost seeming to speak to himself. "But I don't have the luxury of time now, Severus." Dumbledore waved his blackened fingers in the orange-red glow of the firelight. "Others will have to carry on my work. You. Harry. Now Draco."

They lapsed back into silence, but the stillness had a different edge to it now, a ghastly finality. Something essential had been decided between the two men, an irrefutable truth finally agreed upon: Whatever the cost, Voldemort had to be stopped.

Luna hadn't realized how much she'd missed the D.A. meetings until they started again. Had she not been so distracted by Draco's scheming, she was sure she would have been lonely, even with Harry's regular company; as it was, once the D.A. became part of her weekly routine again, Luna understood just how much she had enjoyed being part of something truly special the past year.

The fact that Draco was now a member of the D.A., and therefore a part of her weekly routine (one that didn't involve hours in detention), only made her days that much brighter.

Luna wasn't much for angst. She was a genuinely happy person, glass half-full and all that. She wasn't naïve – she saw the bad in people as well as the good, and she realized that most of her classmates thought she was, to put it bluntly, a nutter – she was just happy. So the world wasn't a perfect place. It was still interesting and beautiful and amazing.

Hence she didn't brood for long over her blossoming feelings for Draco Malfoy. So she had a crush on someone who was probably out of her league and certainly not the best choice for her. Luna found it difficult to mentally harangue herself over that for too long. Actually, having a crush was kind of cool: the tingles down her spine each time Draco walked into a room, the butterflies in her stomach whenever their eyes met across the hall, the electricity across her skin if his hand brushed hers during D.A. meetings. It was all new, all a little scary, and all a lot of fun.

Not that she had said anything to Draco – or anybody else, for that matter – about her feelings. She had no idea how Draco felt about her, and what was more, no idea of how to go about finding out without risking their friendship. Realistically, Luna couldn't imagine that he did feel the same, or she would have been brave enough to ask (or at least she liked to think so).

She kept quiet in the end because she suspected a broken heart wasn't nearly this much fun.

In some ways, although Draco and Harry's partnership had seemed life-altering, things continued much the same as they had during Luna's first two months of school: Professors still overloaded the fifth-years with homework in preparation for their O.W.L.s; Ginny and Dean Thomas split up, creating serious drama that deflected attention from Draco at their D.A. meetings for a couple of weeks; Hermione nearly suffered a nervous breakdown over their first Potions exam; Harry continued to walk Luna to her classes and accompany her to the library in the evenings – for the one thing that had definitely changed was Harry's friendship with Ron.

Draco's acceptance into the D.A. had not been automatic, of course. At the first meeting, after he'd proven himself an Animagus, everyone besides Luna had elected to ignore him, going on about their business like he wasn't in the room. The same had been true of the second meeting. It had gotten a bit better at the third, when Parvati Patil, who had been the first D.A. member brave enough to approach Draco in his animal form, shyly inquired if he would mind to transform again at the end of the meeting. Draco had, and once more, everyone, particularly the girls, had been amazed by the majestic silver cat. After that, Parvati warmed to Draco quite quickly: Whenever she and her twin sister Padma passed him in the hallways, Luna always saw Parvati smile shyly at Draco, who would nod politely in return.

If Draco's Slytherin Housemates, whose company he was rarely in nowadays, happened to be around when this occurred, or when Luna or Harry said hello to Draco in the halls, they would stare incredulously at Draco's back, though none had as of yet found the courage to confront him.

Following Parvati's lead, the Creevey brothers, who were generally nice to everyone and also worshipped the ground Harry walked around (which meant they weren't likely to question his leadership decisions), came around quickly, too. During their third meeting, shortly after Halloween, Colin timidly asked Draco for help with a Summoning charm, and they ended up spending most of the meeting working together while Luna practiced producing a Patronus.

Luna knew they were really making progress when she spotted Ernie McMillan, one of the most conservative D.A. members, stop Draco outside Slughorn's classroom later that week to ask about their Potions homework.

Mostly, though, Luna and Hermione were still the only people who talked with Draco at the D.A. meetings. (Even Harry avoided Draco as much as possible; he even avoided the subject of Draco when he and Luna were alone together. Luna couldn't blame him for continuing to have his doubts, but it still made her sad.) For her part, Hermione seemed to have made it her personal mission in life to annoy Ron as much as possible, and the more time she spent in Draco's company, the more furious Ron looked.

Rona had been positively vile about Harry's willingness to trust Draco. He refused to listen to any of Harry's explanations; this Luna knew because, in the week after their first meeting, Harry had vented his frustrations to her during a walk by the lake on one of the rare warm late-October days. Harry had finally given up in exasperation. At that time, he had told her he was hoping Ron would just come around. But that hadn't happened: Ron continued to sulk in the corner during the D.A. meetings, half-heartedly practicing whatever spells Harry was showing them with his partner, Lavender (about the only person still speaking to Ron after a few weeks of his sullenness), but mainly glaring around the room and muttering hateful comments about "Death Eater spies" and "Slytherin cowards." He wasn't much different outside of their meetings, either, from what Luna witnessed in the hallways and at meals in the Great Hall. He was like a red-headed bear, storming around grumbling and growling at anybody who got in his way. She even saw him make a little first-year girl cry by yelling at her when she got in his way on the steps, a scene that nearly brought Ron to blows with Neville, who also happened to be nearby.

The situation with Ron at last came to a head at their fourth D.A. meeting, when, as they prepared to head back to their common rooms, Harry announced that, at their next meeting, Draco would start showing them the sorts of spells they might really face from Death Eaters.

"So." Harry cleared his throat, looking slightly nervous. "I, uh, well, I think everybody's been doing really great these last few weeks, and I feel like we've all gotten back to where we were at the end of last year, so…"

"So it's time to learn something new next time?" Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, put in hopefully. A ripple of excitement ran around the room as Harry nodded.

"I've, uh, I've actually asked Malfoy to show us some spells."

The room quieted instantly as everyone turned to the back of the room, where Draco always stood. Luna, who always stood beside him, slipped her fingers surreptitiously through his and squeezed his hand encouragingly. She saw the ghost of a smile flitter across his handsome features as he gently returned the pressure, silently thanking her for the support.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence. "I think that sounds really interesting, Harry," she declared firmly. Luna was pleased when people began to nod all around the room. Even Dean, Seamus and Neville, who seemed to dislike Draco almost as much as Ron, approved of the plan.

"I've got an idea."

Ron had moved quietly to the front of the room. All heads now turned in his direction; he stared balefully at Harry. "Why doesn't Malfoy show us how to use the Cruciatus Curse? Or, I know," he finished nastily, "why don't we just go straight for _Avada Kedavra_?"

Cho Chang gasped, going immediately bone-white. Luna saw Michael Corner, Cho's new boyfriend, place a comforting arm around her shoulders. She wondered if Ron had any idea how incredibly insensitive his words were, given how Cho's boyfriend Cedric and Harry's own parents and godfather had been murdered.

Rage darkening his features, Ron didn't seem to care whose feelings he had hurt as weeks of pent-up frustration finally boiled over. "I thought this was where we learned to defend against the Dark Arts, not to practice them," Ron charged Harry, who stood his ground fearlessly. "Or did we get transferred to Durmstrang without me knowing?"

"If you don't want to be here," Harry returned quietly, "then don't be here. Nobody's forcing you."

"You want me to just pretend my best mate hasn't gone 'round the bend? You want me to just stand back and watch Malfoy play whatever trick he's playing on you?"

Well, that was really sort of touching, Luna thought. Ron was being an absolute pig, of course, but at least his heart was in the right place – he wanted to protect Harry. She understood where he was coming from; she had been afraid at first that Draco was using her to hurt Harry, too.

"There's no trick here." Harry was ostensibly talking to Ron, but Luna sensed he was addressing everyone in the room – and he certainly had their full attention. "I trust Draco."

Nobody missed that Harry had just used Draco's first name, a big step forward for him.

"If that's not good enough for you, then I guess you don't trust me. And if you don't trust me," Harry concluded, "then we don't have anything left to talk about."

For one tense moment, Luna feared Ron would strike out at Harry as he had Draco a few weeks before. Instead, his fury seemed to slowly deflate, leaving a cold disdain in its place.

"You're a fool." Ron bit out the words; they were harsher than anything he had said over the past month, and Luna saw Hermione's eyes glisten instantly with tears. "When you figure out who your real friends are, come find me."

And with that, Ron Weasley walked out on his best friend of six years.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Never Been Kissed

The ugliness with Ron did not stop the D.A. from meeting the next week, even though Ron and Lavender were conspicuously absent. Harry was grimly determined to press on with his plan; Luna could see how much it hurt him to be estranged from Ron, but she knew Harry's stubbornness. He would see his partnership with Draco through to the bitter end, because he believed it was the right thing to do.

Ginny and Hermione were also refusing to speak to Ron. Throughout the next week, Ron sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table with Lavender. Seamus, Dean and Neville remained friendly with both Ron and Harry, although they had to do so separately, as Ron and Harry were never together. The former best friends had stopped arguing and started pretending the other was invisible.

"He's an idiot," Ginny informed Luna heatedly on their way to the Room of Requirement for their fifth D.A. meeting. She meant Ron. "I don't understand exactly why Harry trusts Malfoy, either, but I trust Harry. So should Ron."

Luna just nodded vaguely. She couldn't help thinking that Ginny wasn't so quick to trust Dumbledore, who was certainly wiser than Harry, when it came to Professor Snape. She suspected that Ginny's support for Harry stemmed from more than respect for their leader – like something that ran more along the lines of what Luna felt when she was near Draco.

"Are you nervous about tonight?"

Ginny's question surprised Luna, who smiled serenely back. "Why would I be nervous?"

"Well," Ginny replied slowly, hesitating in front of the tapestry of the dancing trolls, "because Malfoy is going to be in charge tonight, and…"

Luna waited patiently, wondering why Ginny looked suddenly so embarrassed. "Maybe I've got it all wrong. I just sort of get the feeling that you, you know, like him."

Luna surprised herself by giggling. She wasn't normally someone who giggled – laughed and smiled, yes, but not giggled. Having a crush really was a new experience.

"He's very handsome, isn't he?" she remarked dreamily, picturing Draco's sleek blonde hair falling across his eyes as he bent over a book in the Great Hall. "And he's really kind of nice once you get to know him. Well," she corrected, "not exactly nice, but…I'm not sure what the word is."

Ginny smirked triumphantly. "I _told_ Hermione you liked him, and she said I was boy-crazy."

"What about you and Harry?" Luna inquired, rather enjoying being able to talk openly with someone about her crush and wanting to offer Ginny the same opportunity.

Flushing prettily, Ginny murmured something that sounded like, "Don't I wish," but just then they were joined by Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, and they all went inside together without any further talk about Ginny and Luna's respective crushes.

Harry called them to order, as always, before turning the floor over to Draco, who looked a little awkward standing in front of the assembled Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in his green Slytherin robes. He sounded authoritative enough when he asked them to form two rows down either side of the room, however. Everyone hurried to obey; Luna could feel the excitement building in the ranks of D.A. members, excitement born of learning something not just new but more than a little dangerous.

She found herself standing beside Neville, who was staring intently at Draco with a strange mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"All right, Neville?" she inquired brightly. He nodded without taking his eyes off Draco.

As the Room of Requirement sensed what Draco needed, a large wooden crate appeared in the center of the room. Draco gestured at Harry and Hermione, who were standing on opposite sides of the room. "Shield Charms, please," he commanded.

Harry and Hermione each waved their wands and murmured, _"Protego_,_" _causing a clear, filmy shield to stretch the length of each row, separating everyone besides Draco from the crate.

Focusing completely on the conjured box, Draco lifted his wand, flicked his wrist, and cried, "_Expulso_!"

If Muggles had been in the room, they would have thought the crate contained a bomb: As Draco's spell hit it, the crate flew high into the air and erupted into a large fireball.

Girls shrieked as burning debris fell harmlessly from over their heads – Harry and Hermione's Shield charms protected everyone. It was still terrifying. Even Luna had jumped a mile when the explosion echoed through the room. Neville placed a calming hand on her shoulder, his eyes never leaving Draco, who, seemingly nonplussed, sent a jet of water out from the end of his wand to put out the small blaze.

When the noise died away, a moment of stunned silence fell. Where the box had been there was nothing but a pile of ashes.

At a nod from Draco, Harry and Hermione let their Shields dissolve.

"Wow." That was Seamus Finnigan. Dean Thomas gave a low whistle. Luna glanced around and saw looks ranging from grudging respect to downright awe on every single face.

She felt a surge of pride for Draco and beamed at him. He caught her eye, and once again, a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his lips.

Luna went slightly weak in the knees.

"How did you do that?" Michael Corner demanded, staring in disbelief at the disintegrated box. "I saw my older brother cast that spell once, and he barely singed our dining room table."

Draco spoke quietly. "You have to mean it. You have to intend to destroy the object." He glanced swiftly at Luna before adding, "And anyone who's standing near it."

It took a moment for that to sink in, and then everyone shifted uncomfortably on the spot. Undeterred, Corner pressed, "Can you show us how to do that?"

"Absolutely not." The response came from Harry, whose scowl was severe enough to stop Corner in mid-protest. "We aren't here to learn the Dark Arts, whatever some people," Luna saw Hermione wince at the reminder of Ron's absence, "may think. We're here to learn what we're up against and how to protect ourselves from it."

A meaningful look passed between Draco and Harry, and Luna suddenly understood that the two must have discussed how this lesson would play out beforehand. She smiled to think of Harry and Draco meeting privately to plan their D.A. meetings, like co-captains of a Quidditch team.

Her smile dimmed somewhat as she realized where Draco must have learned these spells – and why. His harsh words to her in his parents' garden four short weeks ago suddenly rang in her ears: _"You don't know the things I've done. I'm not worth your life."_

In spite of the room's warmth, Luna shivered a little.

Cho spoke up to agree with Harry then, thus quieting any further argument from her boyfriend, whom Luna still thought looked disappointed that he wouldn't be learning how to blow anything up.

"So how do we protect against something like that?" Parvati asked Draco.

"Shield charms," Draco answered simply. "But it's got to be a real shield, or it won't protect you."

Harry suggested that they go down the rows, each person casting a Shield charm. When someone managed to produce an actual, visible shield – which was harder than it looked, Luna soon found – a new crate would appear in the center of the room, and Draco would explode it with a flick of his wand. Hermione stood ready to spray everyone with water from an Augmenti spell when the Shield charms more often than not failed to stop the flaming pieces from falling amongst them; once, when Katie Bell's shield dissolved completely (she screamed and dropped her wand as the crate exploded), Harry had to hastily cast his own shield over their half of the room to keep people from being blown back against the wall.

By the time they had gone around the entire room once, only five people – Katie, Neville, Ginny, Ernie and Cho – had been able to produce a visible shield. Everyone was sopping wet from being sprayed down by Hermione, and a few people had small holes burned in the shoulders of their robes from the glowing embers floating down from the ceiling, but despite that, Luna noted that everyone was talking excitedly.

She saw Colin Creevey slyly give Draco the thumbs' up sign. She smiled at Draco, who smiled back, a real (though no less heart-stopping) smile this time.

"Okay, everyone," Harry called, drawing the meeting to a close. "I want each of you to practice your Shield charms this week. We'll start with this again next time and see if we can't move on to something else, all right?"

The room cleared swiftly, as always. Luna overheard people complimenting Harry on the lesson – "Good work, Harry," Ernie declared, shaking Harry's hand in his usual pompous way; "That was cool," the Creevey brothers chorused, waving animatedly to both Harry and Draco; "See you tomorrow," Parvati called to Luna, her smile including Draco.

Draco, as usual, hung back until everyone else was gone, then quietly followed Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Luna out into the hall.

"See you," he said, as always, heading off in the direction of the dungeons.

Ginny nudged Luna. "Well?" she whispered meaningfully, inclining her head toward Draco's disappearing figure. "What're you waiting for? Go say goodnight."

Luna's heart fluttered up in the direction of her throat. She hesitated, wondering if she should take Ginny's advice or just leave things as they were.

_You'll never know if you don't take a chance, _her inner voice, the one that prompted her to be braver and more daring than Luna believed herself to truly be, chided.

Catching Ginny's eye, she said, "I'll see you guys tomorrow." She didn't wait for Harry or Hermione to ask where she was going; she just hurried off after Draco, who was halfway down the stairs by now.

"Good meeting, wasn't it?" Luna greeted him breathlessly, falling into step beside him at the bottom of the staircase.

Draco stopped, regarding her with undisguised puzzlement. "Aren't you going with Potter?"

"I'll see Harry tomorrow," Luna answered airily.

She caught her still-damp hair in both hands and knotted it on top of her head, securing it there with a ribbon she kept in the pocket of her robes. She skipped along beside Draco, who continued to eye her curiously.

"My father once wanted to print a story about a Cherufe living in Wales," she informed Draco as they made their way slowly through the mostly-empty nighttime corridors (it wasn't quite curfew) toward the Slytherin dormitory. "One of his long-time subscribers had a hill in his backyard that kept blowing up. But it turned out it was really some of his neighbors who were trying to mine for gold and didn't know how to properly use something the Muggles call 'dynamite'."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "What's a Cherufe?"

"It's a kind of dragon that lives in volcanoes in Chile," Luna explained. "Your spell tonight made me think of it. I don't really know what dynamite is, but I can see how someone might mistake it for a dragon, don't you? But still," she went on, considering it, "it would have been interesting to see a Cherufe."

Draco slowed to a stop. They were at the top of the stairs that led down to the dungeons and the Slytherin dormitory. He leaned one hip against the banister, considering her. Luna was sure he had no idea how gorgeous he looked, standing there so tall and lean, his head tilted to one side so that his silky hair fell across his eyes in a way that made her stomach tighten pleasantly.

"You are the strangest girl," he offered, not unkindly.

"Yes," Luna agreed evenly, "I suppose I am."

He folded his arms across his chest. "So what's going on? Did you have some kind of row with Potter?"

Now it was Luna's turn to be baffled. "Why would I fight with Harry?"

"Search me," Draco shrugged. "But I can't think why else you wouldn't want to say goodnight to your boyfriend."

Luna thought for a second he was joking and nearly laughed out loud. Seeing from his slight frown and furrowed brow that he was serious, she protested, "Oh, Harry's not my boyfriend. He's just my friend."

Draco's sapphire-blue eyes narrowed. "But I saw you together. Coming out of the Owlery."

Luna knew the night he was referring to, the night before they'd gone back in time for Draco to fight Greyback, yet she didn't see how he had come to the conclusion that she was Harry's girlfriend based on that. Seeing her bewilderment, Draco insisted, "I saw how he was looking at you. I thought…"

Luna suddenly understood. "You thought we'd been kissing?" Spots of color appeared high on Draco's pale cheeks, but he nodded curtly.

"I've never kissed Harry," Luna assured him, afraid to speculate why this seemed so important to him. "Actually," she went on brightly, "I've never kissed anyone."

Draco's expression suddenly changed, and Luna felt the air around her almost sizzle, as if a current of electricity had been ignited between them. Slowly, Draco pushed off the banister and took a step toward her. His expression…He was looking at her so intently, his blue gaze almost fiery, that Luna felt her knees go weak again.

She thought she might have slumped right to the floor if he hadn't put one arm around her waist, pulling her close. With his other hand, he used one finger to tilt her chin up toward his face.

_He's going to kiss me he's going to kiss me he's going to kiss me…_

Luna's heart was pounding wildly in her chest. She sighed, watching Draco's mouth descend toward hers, enjoying the warm-butter feeling of her eyes drifting shut and her body melting against his –

"Miss Lovegood! Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco jumped back from Luna so fast he nearly fell down the stairs backwards. Luna, pulse still racing, looked over her shoulder to find Professor McGonagall staring at them from the doorway of an empty classroom.

"Is it curfew, Professor?" Luna inquired lightly.

"Nearly so, Miss Lovegood," McGonagall replied sternly. She was clearly flustered. "I suggest you both get back to your dormitories immediately."

Luna turned back to Draco. His blue eyes were dancing with laughter, a sight undoubtedly as rare as a Cherufe – and one that made Luna so happy she had to fight down laughter herself.

In fact, she could hear the laughter in her voice as she said hopefully, "Well, see you tomorrow, then?"

Draco nodded. "Sweet dreams."

Fairly floating back to the Ravenclaw common room, Luna knew that would not be a problem.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Public Enemies

Draco knew he should have been scared to death that he was still under orders to murder Albus Dumbledore but, instead of doing his utmost to carry those out, was actively betraying the most powerful dark wizard in recent memory. Maybe of all time. The fact that he would soon be facing said dark wizard while trying to conceal his betrayal should have consumed Draco's every waking thought; he should have been too terrified to sleep at night.

And yet, Draco was happy.

He was happy in a way that made him realize how empty his life had been before Voldemort forced him to choose a side, rather than just go along for the ride, pampered and coddled and protected. As a member of Dumbledore's Army, Draco was definitely not beloved. Less than half of Potter's friends trusted Draco, let alone liked him. But they were giving him a chance to prove himself. Whether it was Parvati Patil smiling just to see him in the hallway, or Hermione Granger taking evenings away from her studies to help him practice Occlumency in the dungeons, or Potter turning over his D.A. meetings to Draco's expertise, for the first time in his life, Draco was finding out what real friendship was.

Then, of course, there was Luna.

The night he'd learned she wasn't seeing Potter, Draco had finally admitted to himself just how badly he wanted this girl for his own. He never again wanted to imagine her snogging Potter – or anyone else. Since McGonagall had interrupted their first would-be kiss, Draco hadn't found another opening to show Luna exactly how he felt, but that didn't seem to bother her. Her face lit up whenever he walked into a room, she waved shyly to him when they passed in the hallways, her eyes sought him before anyone else in the crowded Great Hall. Draco knew it was only a matter of time before another enchanted moment presented itself, and he didn't intend to let it slip past him again.

Not that Draco's world was suddenly all sunshine and roses. The storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. For one thing, his Slytherin Housemates seemed to have at last caught onto the change in their once-formidable leader. Draco had yet to openly declare his allegiance to Potter – he saw no reason to make his membership in the D.A. public knowledge, since their meetings remained secret to all but those involved – but his obvious friendliness with students outside of Slytherin had earned him more than a few enemies in his own House, most notably Blaise Zabini, whose popularity amongst the Slytherins was second only to Draco's. Crabbe and Goyle remained loyal for the moment (though that would change if they discovered how friendly Draco really was with Potter, he knew), and their hulking presence was enough to dissuade any real ugliness, but Draco knew a fight was coming, sooner or later.

For another, and far more troubling, it was becoming clear to Draco that his brilliant plan to save himself by helping Potter defeat Voldemort had more than a few holes in it. Maybe he had put too much stock in the prophecy naming Potter "The Chosen One," for Draco had been operating under the assumption that Potter already had a master plan for bringing down the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. As he'd plotted his defection to Potter's side over the summer, Draco had imagined the moment that Potter embraced him as an ally as the moment when he and his parents would essentially be safe. Surely, Draco had thought, it would be just a matter of months before Potter would strike; then Voldemort would fall, and life would return to normal – normal being Draco focusing on his own future, not heroic rescues and saving the world from dark wizards and all those other ambitious feats Potter and Company seemed to enjoy. It would be all's well that ends well, and happily ever after, and so on and so forth.

Only, Potter's plans to take down the Dark Lord were obviously much sketchier than Draco had imagined. The week before their last D.A. meeting, Potter had come to the dungeons where Granger and Draco met to practice Occlumency – Granger not only being the most accomplished witch Draco knew, but also quite willing to batter his mental defenses mercilessly as she sought a way into his mind – for a private word with Draco. At the time, Draco had hoped Potter was about to reveal part of that master plan. It turned out Potter wanted to talk about the upcoming D.A. meeting, at which Draco would begin to demonstrate the Dark Arts.

"I just want to be clear about something," Potter had said, leaning against the wall beside the door. Draco had still been seated in the hard-backed chair where he fought off Granger's vicious mental attacks. "I don't want anybody glorifying the Dark Arts like Snape does. I want the focus to remain on how we protect ourselves against this stuff, not how to use it."

Draco had nodded his agreement. "I can perform a lot of the curses silently, if you like. That way no one will even know the words. And unless they're as industrious as Granger, they shouldn't be able to find them in the library. Most of these aren't even in the Restricted Section."

"Good." Potter had pushed off the wall then, preparing to leave, but Draco, desperate for more information, had held up a hand to stop him.

"I was wondering if you'd given any more thought to what Voldemort might be doing with Ollivander." Meaning, of course, did Potter have any intention of doing more than offering self-defense lessons to his friends.

"I don't like it that Voldemort's after something, and I don't know what it is," Potter had confessed, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the damp stone floor. "I'd like to rescue Mr. Ollivander, but I…I just don't see how."

"I have some ideas," Draco had offered, and they had ended up talking for another hour more, at the end of which time Draco had reluctantly concluded that Potter had no imminent plans to attack. He was obviously up to something – Draco heard rumors amongst the D.A. that Dumbledore was giving Potter private lessons – but unless Potter was playing his cards extremely close to the chest, it seemed he didn't yet know how to fulfill the prophecy that claimed he, Harry Potter, would be the one with the power to stop the Dark Lord.

That presented something of a problem for Draco, who had only been given until the end of the school year to fulfill his mission – or face the consequences. And it was already nearly Christmas.

So Draco should have been devoting all of his considerable intelligence to figuring out how to speed up Potter's time-table, not planning an outing with his new almost-friends. Nevertheless, on the morning of the final Hogsmeade visit of the term, that's just what he was doing.

November was slipping by. The year's first real snowfall blanketed the ground when Draco woke, feeling equal parts excited (because he would be spending the day with Luna, which meant numerous possibilities for recreating an enchanted moment) and apprehensive (because, at Luna's invitation, he would be joining some of her friends in the D.A. for drinks at The Three Broomsticks, which meant flaunting his new friendships in full view of the entire school for the first time). Draco dressed with care in his best jeans, an expensive black-knit sweater, and his thick wool coat, determined to look the part of the confident, self-possessed man, even if he didn't feel it.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were waiting for Draco in the common room. For her part, Pansy seemed to have decided that showering Draco with even more unwanted affection might tempt him to abandon his new friendships; she linked her arm through his as they made their way out into the bright cold day. She chattered on about how she needed to spend her morning Christmas shopping, not-so-subtly hinting that she hoped Draco would come along.

Draco ignored her. He had no intention of spending his day with Pansy Parkinson.

As they made their way toward the lane that led from the school to the village, Draco spotted Luna standing near the gate. She wore a robin's-egg blue stocking cap and a long lime-green coat that fell past her knees – the contrast in colors was so classically Luna, Draco couldn't suppress a grin.

Deftly extracting himself from Pansy's grip, he said, "Excuse me," and walked off while she was in mid-sentence.

The snow had stopped hours ago, but a fierce wind whipped the powder into the icy air. A dusting of flakes had settled amidst the cloud of honey-blonde curls spilling out from underneath Luna's hat. With her sweet smile and wind-reddened cheeks, Draco thought she looked exactly like an angel beaming at him as he approached.

He experienced a momentary twinge of doubt. Luna was too rebellious and adventurous to be mistaken for an angel, of course, yet she was still better through-and-through than anyone else Draco had ever known. Was he doing the right thing here, encouraging her crush when he was still in so much terrible danger? What if Voldemort found him out and decided to use his new girlfriend against him – could Draco really stand to be responsible for Luna's light going out of the world?

_All the more reason to make sure Potter comes out on top in the end – and that the end is soon, _Draco reasoned.

But the truth was – and Draco knew this about himself – he'd never been good at denying himself anything he wanted. Self-sacrifice didn't come naturally to the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

And so he took Luna's out-stretched hand in his, ignoring the shell-shocked stares from the Slytherins (who had stopped dead in their tracks outside the school's gate), and gazed down solemnly into her up-turned face.

"Hi," she breathed.

Luna looked so glad to see him Draco couldn't help smiling, though, as he was trying hard to be supremely cool in her eyes, he managed to suppress the dopey grin that wanted to escape and smirked confidently instead. He brushed a snowflake off her cheek with the tip of a gloved index finger. He liked to think her shiver was due more to his touch than the biting wind.

"Shall we?" he drawled.

They strolled hand-in-hand toward the picturesque, snow-covered village, which looked like it belonged on the front of a Christmas card. Other students were hurrying past them, anxious to get out of the punishing wind, but Draco and Luna took their time. He suspected she knew he was nervous about spending the morning in the company of her friends outside of D.A. meetings, something he'd never done before, and he appreciated her giving him time to prepare himself. Luna, he had discovered, was infallibly considerate.

At last, though, they reached The Three Broomsticks, which was packed nearly as full as Honeyduke's across the way. Draco held the door for Luna and followed her inside.

It took her a second to spot her friends. "There they are," she said, pointing to a table near the roaring fireplace, around which sat Potter, Granger, Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom. Ginny waved cheerfully.

"I'll get us some drinks, shall I?" Draco offered, his stomach suddenly knotting with tension. What in the world was he supposed to talk about with these people? He had absolutely nothing in common with them besides a desperate desire to see Voldemort stopped. While that was sufficient for D.A. meetings, he couldn't picture himself easing naturally into a discussion of the magical properties of houseplants with Longbottom, whose parents Draco's Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus had tortured into madness.

"Just a Butterbeer for me," Luna said brightly, digging in her handbag for coins.

Draco brushed her off. "My treat," he insisted. Her shy smile told him she hadn't been sure if this was a date or not, either – until now.

Professor Slughorn was at the bar throwing back fire-whiskeys and talking to several important-looking wizards Draco didn't know. He happened to catch Draco's eye when he shouldered up to order his Butterbeers.

"Good day, Malfoy?" Slughorn greeted him vaguely.

Draco nodded in response. He was accustomed to the new Potions professor ignoring him; Potter, Granger, and Weasley's little sister had each made it into the Slug Club, but Lucius Malfoy's very public fall from grace had ensured that Slughorn wasn't keen to put Draco on his shelf.

_If he only knew just how important I really am, _Draco thought, smirking to himself. _If he knew what Voldemort's asked me to do, I bet I'd rate an invitation to his Christmas party._

Draco surprised himself by still caring so much about his status at Hogwarts. Here he was, engaged in a desperate vie for his life, and he was privately fuming that Horace Slughorn hadn't invited him to what would undoubtedly be a collection of mediocrity with a few truly gifted wizards (like Potter, Granger, and Ginny Weasley) mixed in. This hero stuff really didn't come naturally to him, Draco reflected – he couldn't quite get over wondering what was in it all for him.

Draco soon had his drinks and was threading his way between the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors crowding the pub. Luna had seated herself across from Potter, Granger, and Longbottom. The seat beside Luna was empty, meaning Draco would be between her and Ginny Weasley.

They seemed to be well into a heated debate about who would win the House Cup as Draco took his seat, draping his coat over the back of his chair and sliding Luna's Butterbeer to her. She offered him a heart-meltingly sweet smile. He could see how intensely happy it made her for him to be there, with her friends, and he vowed to do his best to get along well with everyone for her sake.

Potter and Granger merely nodded at Draco when he sat down, and that was just as well for him, since he had no idea what to say to them, either.

"Gryffindor is definitely going to win this year," Longbottom was saying. "Even with the, er, trouble on the team."

Draco stared determinedly down into his glass. He knew Longbottom was referring to Potter's falling-out with Weasley, and since Draco was more or less directly responsible for that, he hoped someone would change the subject – soon.

Ginny Weasley obliged, though not how Draco had expected: She suddenly turned to him and asked, "Will you still be playing Seeker this year?"

Swallowing a gulp of Butterbeer, Draco smoothly hid his surprise at being included in the conversation, managing to answer mildly, "For now. Though I expect I'll be asked to leave my position once I'm seen out with you lot."

There was a moment of surprised silence in which no one seemed sure how to respond to Draco's off-the-cuff frankness. Then Luna laughed, and the sound was so light and airy that it broke the tension at once.

Draco allowed himself to relax the tiniest bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so dreadful after all.

"Honestly, I don't see what all the fuss is about Quidditch," Granger spoke up loftily.

"Hermione!" Ginny groaned. "Don't start this again." To Draco, she explained kindly, "Hermione thinks anything that can't be learned from a book isn't worth knowing."

Caught off-guard by her warmth – Ginny Weasley was generally polite to him, out of respect for Potter he assumed, but certainly not friendly – Draco just nodded.

"That's not true," Granger protested, though it was clear no one believed her. "I just think there are more important things to focus on."

"Such as?" Longbottom challenged.

"Well, like…school," she finished lamely, drawing laughter from around the table.

The conversation continued on pleasantly for some time, until somehow they ended up on the topic of Ginny and Luna's upcoming O.W.L.s. "I think Transformation will be the hardest," Ginny confessed. "I can never seem to get it quite right."

"Runs in the family, I think," Potter put in. "Fred and George told me they always had tails on their teacups when they Transfigured mice. But McGonagall still passed them."

"Draco could help you study," Granger suggested. "After all he is – "

She stopped short, seeming to remember they were in public, not in the Room of Requirement. "You know," she finished softly, looking mortified by her lapse in judgment.

Though Draco shrugged to show her it was no big deal, surreptitiously, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else was in hearing range. Being an unregistered Animagus was a serious enough offense in itself, but on the off chance that Greyback ever made it out of Azkaban, Draco could ill afford for the Dark Lord to find out he could transform into a giant silver panther, just like the one Greyback had fought in the Malfoys' garden.

Having recovered her composure, Granger studied Draco thoughtfully. "This brings up something I've been meaning to talk to you about, actually."

Draco tensed again. He couldn't imagine Granger having anything good to say to him.

"We need to be able to talk about your…ability without other people knowing what we mean." She turned to Potter. "Harry, I think Draco needs a nickname."

Draco stared at her in disbelief. "Sorry? I need a what?"

"A nickname," Granger repeated patiently. She had dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper; their whole table leaned in to her. "Something we can call your _other _self, so nobody knows it's you."

"You mean like the nickname Harry's dad had when he was at Hogwarts?" Ginny inquired. Again showing surprising sensitivity to the fact that Draco was an outsider, she explained to him in a voice too low for anyone besides their small group to hear, "Harry's dad and Sirius were, well, like you. And they had these nicknames for each other, Prongs and Padfoot, so nobody would know what they could do."

A nickname. Draco could see the wisdom of what Granger was suggesting, yet he wondered if she realized what her suggestion entailed. For starters, nicknames were something people gave their family members and their friends, and Draco wasn't at all convinced he had come far enough with Potter and his followers to be nickname material. But more than that, Granger had trodden on what Draco knew to be the sacred ground of Potter's memory of both his father and godfather, whom he (understandably) hero-worshipped. Draco seriously doubted Potter had enough friendly feeling for his former nemesis to want Draco sharing anything with those memories, not even a stupid nickname.

Longbottom, Granger, Ginny and Luna were all looking to Potter now, waiting, Draco understood, for some kind of cue.

_Here it is, moment of truth: Either I'm part of the club for real, or I'm not. They'll all follow Potter's lead…_

Draco hated himself for hoping that Potter would play along with this silly game. He hated himself for caring what any of these people thought about him. He stared down at the tabletop, out of the corner of his eye noting Luna's hopeful smile taking in all of her friends. All along, she'd believed it would be so easy for him to just switch sides, to just be accepted by everyone else the way she had accepted him. Draco couldn't share that belief. He had proven to be of some use to Potter, and that was as far as their partnership would ever go. They had too much history, had said too many awful things to one another, for real friendship to ever exist between them.

It had been so much easier, Draco reflected darkly, when he didn't want to be liked…

"I think it's a good idea," Granger pressed, breaking the long silence before it could become too awkward. Her cheerfulness sounded forced; her eyes were practically boring holes in the side of Potter's head as he, too, gazed determinedly at the tabletop.

"But it needs to be something special," she continued, starting to sound a little desperate. "Something that really just _fits._"

Feeling surly, Draco couldn't resist suggesting, "Well, in that case, how about Blood Traitor?"

There was a beat of silence, followed by suddenly uproarious laughter. Draco, who had been preparing to shove back from the table and stalk off, to show Potter that he bloody well didn't need his friendship, felt the tension in his muscles unwind a bit.

"I meant something that fits your animal form," Granger retorted. As usual, she avoided looking Draco directly in the eye, but he saw the hint of a smile playing on her lips nevertheless.

"I know." Potter finally spoke, his eyes meeting Draco's across the table. "How about 'Whiskers'?"

For a second, Draco thought he was being made fun of. He felt a furious blush start to creep up his neck before he realized there was real mirth in Potter's dancing green eyes.

Potter wasn't being cruel. Even though he had absolutely every reason to despise Draco, Potter, being Potter, was offering his former enemy the chance to really be part of their group.

Just as Draco wondered how, exactly, someone got to be so saint-like, Potter's gaze flickered swiftly from Draco to Luna. A pang of disappointment stung Draco as he realized this wasn't actually about forgiveness. Potter wasn't making this gesture of friendship for Draco; he was doing it for Luna.

A glance around the table showed him that Granger and Ginny were also watching Luna closely, noting the brightness of her happy smile.

So they knew. They knew that Luna wanted to be with him. And because they cared about her, they were trying to accept him.

Well, Draco decided, here was what he'd been looking for – common ground. Something he shared with Potter and Company besides their mutual desire to destroy Voldemort and his Death Eaters: They all cared for Luna.

He told himself not to be disappointed. He knew he didn't really deserve even this much kindness from anyone of them, Potter and Granger most of all.

Draco raised his glass of Butterbeer. "To Whiskers," he offered.

Luna laughed again. Potter lifted his glass and clinked it against Draco's, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as glasses clattered all around the table.

"To Whiskers," they all chimed.

If it had ended there, Luna would think later, the day would have been close to perfect.

But it didn't. Because just after they made their silly toast to Draco's nickname, the door to The Three Broomsticks opened, and in walked Ron Weasley.

His gaze went directly to their table – to Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna laughing with Draco Malfoy.

Luna, who was facing the door, watched Ron's face purple with rage. Harry and Hermione had their backs to the door, but the look on Luna's face – she felt her serene composure falter, her smile along with it – told them something was wrong, and they spun around, anticipating danger.

Ginny hissed from beside Draco as Ron stomped toward them. Lavender, who had followed Ron inside, hovered by the door looking frightened.

Luna was suddenly rather frightened, too. She'd seen Ron lose his temper before, of course, but this was nothing like those other times. His fury contained a dangerous quality she didn't associate with Ron, boorish though he could be. She sensed that whatever he was feeling now was beyond jealousy of Harry's fame or even hurt over his friends' perceived betrayal.

Luna suspected that Ron truly believed Draco was evil and Harry, by trusting him, was leading everyone Ron cared about into a trap. She could see how such a belief would make a person dangerous.

She glanced at Draco. His sapphire eyes were perfectly flat; he didn't move a muscle, yet she saw his fists clench beneath the table. If it came down to a fight, she didn't think Draco would just stand by again and let Ron punch him out, as he had after the D.A. meeting.

Hermione and Harry appeared unsettled by the change in Ron, too, because they both rose to block his path to the table. Ron's furious gaze never left Draco's face as he stopped, almost toe-to-toe with Harry, and demanded acidly, "What's _he _doing here?"

"Honestly, Ron, you're being ridiculous." Hermione's attempt at annoyed impatience was somewhat weakened by the tremor in her voice. "We're just having a few drinks."

"With Malfoy? So you're all friends now, is that it?"

By this time, the scene had attracted the attention of everyone in the pub. Luna knew most people had been quietly watching their little group all along; anything Harry did was news nowadays, at Hogwarts and beyond, and to the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Slytherins scattered around the noisy room, Draco's presence at Harry's table was as juicy as it was mysterious. Ron had merely given everyone, including Professor Slughorn (who was well into his cups at the bar), a reason to stop pretending not to eavesdrop.

Draco pushed slowly back from the table and stood, careful to keep his hands where Ron could see them – nowhere near his wand. Luna automatically got to her feet as well, although she wasn't sure what she meant to do. This fight wasn't about her. She couldn't prevent whatever was going to happen from happening. This was between Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco.

"It's all right, Potter." Draco spoke softly, keeping a wary eye on Ron's wand-hand. "I should be going anyway."

"You don't have to leave." Luna recognized the stubborn set to Harry's jaw. He was speaking to Draco but glaring at Ron, unwilling to let Draco simply defuse the situation.

"I think I should." Draco looked quizzically at Luna, inclining his head toward the door. "Would you like to come with me? I was planning on stopping by Honeyduke's."

Given the gravity of the situation, Luna knew it was absurd to be pleased that Draco wanted her to accompany him, but she was anyway.

"Of course," she murmured.

After swiftly helping her into her coat, Draco placed a hand gently on the small of Luna's back and steered her around the table, seeing to it that he remained between her and Ron, who continued to glower at Harry. Luna waved over her shoulder to Hermione (who looked close to tears), Ginny (who looked ready to throttle her brother), and Neville (who looked like he hoped the floor would open and swallow him). The chatter in the pub had started to resume by the time she and Draco reached the door, brushing past a red-faced Lavender. Luna was sure the talk was all about Draco and Harry, but for a moment, hurrying across the snow-packed street beside Draco, she thought they had gotten off easily, considering what might have happened.

Then the door to The Three Broomsticks banged open behind them, and Ron came charging out with his wand raised.

"Oi! Malfoy!"

In one fluid motion, Draco pulled Luna around behind him, drew his wand from the pocket of his thick coat (though he kept it at his side, she noted), and planted his feet firmly in the middle of the street. Luna gripped his hand tightly in both of hers as Ron advanced on them, his wand leveled at Draco.

"She shouldn't be here." Ron jerked his chin at Luna. "I don't have any problem with her."

"Luna can go anywhere she likes," Draco answered coldly. "I'm not forcing her to be here."

Of course, Luna had no intention of leaving. She just gazed evenly at Ron over Draco's shoulder, hiding her nerves behind a placid smile. Ron opted to ignore her.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he snarled at Draco. "You may have fooled Harry somehow, but you don't fool me, Malfoy."

Draco sneered at Ron. Whatever better angels had persuaded him to avoid a fight in The Three Broomsticks seemed to have deserted him now. "Right," he jeered. "How could anyone expect to fool the brilliant Ron Weasley?"

Luna bit her lip. She knew Ron was being a prat, but she wished Draco didn't have to be so…well, so much himself at the moment.

Ron stalked two more paces forward, stopping only when he was nose-to-nose with Draco, who, like Harry, didn't flinch. Ron's voice was low and menacing; Luna thought she preferred his shouting.

"I'm not going to let you do whatever it is you're trying to do. These people are my friends."

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Draco shot back, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "Can't stand being replaced as Potter's sidekick?"

That obviously struck a nerve. Ron's eyes bulged. Luna saw him draw back his fist; she cried aloud a warning to Draco – which proved unnecessary, for Draco had already lifted his wand and pointed it at the tip of Ron's nose.

Ron froze.

Luna cast around desperately for help. Attracted by Ron's initial angry shout, several students had stepped out of Honeyduke's to witness the tense exchange, but Luna saw no teachers amidst the growing crowd of onlookers. She didn't even see any other members of the D.A. that might intervene.

"I let you have a free go at me one time, Weasley," Draco warned, his tone matching Ron's for menace. "I figure I've earned a busted nose. But one's all you get – you want to fight me now, then it'll have to be a real fight."

Ron took a step back, his eyes flashing with hatred. "Fine by me." He spread his arms wide. "We can sort this out, right here, right now. Just say the word."

Luna knew Ron was offering to duel Draco. She could also see that Draco was tempted to accept. And even though she knew he would most likely win, she didn't want to see him fight Ron. She squeezed his hand, trying to convey that wish silently, at the same time wondering if what she wanted had any bearing on Draco's decisions. She wasn't entirely clear on how this sort-of-girlfriend thing worked.

To her relief, Draco hesitated, half-lowering his wand. "Weasley, I know you don't believe this, but I really am trying to help your friends."

Ron snorted with disbelief. "Bullshit, Malfoy. The only person you've ever tried to help is yourself."

"Ron, stop it!" That was Hermione, rushing out the front door of The Three Broomsticks with Ginny, Neville, Lavender, and Harry on her heels. Luna sagged with relief, thinking if anyone could talk some sense into Ron, it would be Hermione.

Students streamed out of the pub now, attracted by Hermione's shout. The street was lined with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors anxious to see Ron and Draco fight it out. From the corner of her eye, Luna also spotted a knot of Slytherin students – including Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson – watching the exchange avidly from the doorway of Zonko's.

Her heart dropped into her shoes. So much for getting out of this unnoticed…

"Leave him alone." Harry pushed past Hermione and marched into the street. Luna thought for a second he was addressing Draco – until he wedged himself between the two boys with his back to Draco, his furious green eyes trained on Ron. "I told you to stay out of this, and I meant it."

"I can't believe this!" Ron was shouting again. He turned to throw his hands up in exasperation at Hermione. "Are you really both defending Malfoy from _me_?"

Harry's voice was deadly quiet. "You're not part of this anymore. You walked away, remember?"

Luna had rarely seen Harry so angry. She knew it was anger borne of hurt that Ron had walked out on him, but that didn't make his next words any less cutting.

"You wanted out, so you're out. We don't need you anymore," he concluded bitterly. "Just go snog your girlfriend and stay out of my business."

With that, Harry shoved Ron once, hard, in the chest. Then he pushed roughly past him, heading back inside the Three Broomsticks.

A heartbeat passed in which Hermione, looking absolutely devastated by the gulf opening between her two best friends, had to be restrained from running to Ron's side by Ginny, who looked ready to pounce on her brother. Luna couldn't see Harry's face or Draco's, as both had their backs to her, but she saw the look on Ron's and knew real trouble was brewing.

In one second, the scene went from bad to truly awful.

"_Stupefy_!" Ron yelled at Harry's retreating back, an instant before Draco cried, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Everything happened so fast it took Luna few breaths to process it: Suddenly, Harry and Ron were both on the ground, Harry sprawled on the steps of The Three Broomsticks with blood seeping out of a gash behind his ear (he'd banged his head on the stairs), Ron in the middle of the street with Draco's knee pressing hard into his chest.

Draco shoved his wand painfully into the tender skin below Ron's jaw. "Don't move," he growled, and Ron didn't.

Luna blinked rapidly, as if the scene in front of her would adjust itself. It didn't. Ron had really Stunned his best friend, and Draco had really protected Harry.

In front of what looked to be at least half the school, staring incredulously at the reversed-reality playing out in the snow-covered street.

"Mr. Malfoy! Let him up at once!"

Luna turned to find Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick hurrying toward them, pushing through the gaping crowd of students. Their red cheeks suggested they had just walked down from the castle.

Flitwick met Luna's eyes and frowned his disapproval at finding her once again in the midst of a brawl. Luna smiled innocently, but her Head of House didn't look appeased.

Draco had yet to obey McGonagall: He still had Ron pinned to the ground. Luna glanced toward The Three Broomsticks, where Hermione remained rooted to the spot, trembling from head to toe, whether from anger or fear, Luna couldn't tell. Harry was sitting up slowly, rubbing his head; Ginny rushed to his side.

"Are you all right?" she asked, lightly brushing snow out of his hair. "Oh, Harry, you're bleeding."

Harry didn't answer. Like everyone else on the street, he was watching Draco, who seemed to be deciding whether it was worth it to curse Ron in front of two teachers.

In that instant, Luna was so angry at Ron, she rather hoped Draco decided to chance it. But then again, he'd probably be expelled, and she definitely didn't want that.

"Mr. Malfoy, I said _let him up._" McGonagall's words were sharper than the wind. Draco grated an irritated glance her way – she and Professor Flitwick were now standing beside Luna – but finally stood up.

"Well, I have to say, I am disappointed," McGonagall continued, frowning severely at Draco. "I thought we might have gotten beyond this little feud, but apparently, I was misinformed. I believe the Headmaster made it perfectly clear what would happen if you ever attacked another person at Hogwarts, didn't he, Mr. Malfoy?"

Ron stared down at his feet. Luna glared at him. Was he really going to let Draco take the fall for this?

"Hold on a minute, Professor." Luna looked up, surprised, as Seamus Finnigan moved away from the onlookers crowded into the doorway of Honeyduke's. "It wasn't Malfoy attacked Harry. It was Ron."

McGonagall's mouth flopped open. After a moment, Flitwick squeaked, "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would he do that?"

Members of the D.A. had started to peel away from the crowd. Seamus, Dean Thomas, Ernie McMillan, the Patil twins, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, the Creevey brothers, Cho Chang, Katie Bell and Neville now positioned themselves around Harry, who had gotten unsteadily to his feet and was leaning heavily against Ginny. Ron had the good sense to at least look ashamed.

"What is going on here?" McGonagall demanded, looking expectantly from Ron to Draco. Both avoided her eyes. "I demand an explanation."

Hermione moved then. She walked calmly down the steps, head held high, and planted herself at Draco's side. "Seamus is telling the truth." In the windswept street, Hermione's steely voice, devoid of its earlier tremor, carried to every set of ears. Ron flushed scarlet. "Draco was defending Harry, Professor."

McGonagall looked from Hermione to Ron to Draco to Luna to Harry in swift succession, as if she might be able to read the truth on their faces. In the end, she seemed to conclude that Hermione, one of the most honest students in the school, wouldn't lie for Draco – or about Ron.

"Well, then, I must say, I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Weasley. You will accompany me to my office immediately, so we can discuss your punishment."

She glanced at Harry, sighing wearily to find him, once more, in need of a Healer. "Miss Granger, please take Potter to the hospital wing. That gash could use some attention."

Ron opened his mouth to say something to Hermione – likely a desperate apology, from the wounded expression on his face – but she pointedly walked away, refusing to look at him. Luna felt a rush of sympathy for Hermione; she couldn't imagine how difficult this was for her, being forced to choose between her friends.

Ron started to follow McGonagall, who had swept imperiously on ahead with Flitwick in her wake, but Draco caught his arm.

"If you ever attack Potter like that again when his back is turned," Draco hissed, too low for anyone but Ron (and Luna, who was right behind them) to hear, "you'll have to deal with me. Understood?"

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall called. "Come along. Now."

Draco released Ron, whose dumbfounded expression reflected how Luna was feeling. Was it possible that Draco really cared what happened to Harry? Or was he just goading Ron further?

Students were drifting away, whispering excitedly about what they had just witnessed. Hermione and Ginny were helping Harry down the stairs; he nodded curtly to Draco, and Draco nodded back. Though no words were said, some sort of silent understanding seemed to pass between them – as if an agreement had been reached, a secret pact sealed.

Normally, Luna would have felt like jumping for joy over that fact, yet she couldn't help noticing the group of Slytherins standing a short distance away, eyeing Draco with the sort of white-hot hatred reserved only for traitors. Crabbe and Goyle looked bewildered, too thick to understand why their beloved leader was defending Harry Potter. But it was Pansy Parkinson who captured Luna's attention: She appeared positively stricken.

_What's that old Muggle saying? "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"?_

Well, come what may, the truth was out there now. Draco had finally, publicly chosen his side. Standing there beside him in the snow, Luna didn't know whether she was terrified or elated.

Draco didn't wait around to see the reaction to his fight with Ron. Luna had to practically run to keep up with him as he plowed through the snowdrifts covering the street between Hogsmeade and the castle.

He didn't say anything. Not to her, not to anyone. Luna half-expected him to whirl around and tell her to leave him alone, but he didn't. He just kept moving, through the front doors, up the staircases, down a long, empty corridor to a familiar tapestry of dancing trolls.

Luna hung back while he paced once, twice, finally a third time in front of the entrance to the Room of Requirement. When a door appeared in the stonework, he held his hand silently out to her. Although she had no idea what she would find inside, she grasped his fingers and followed him through the doorway.

She gasped. Theoretically, she knew that the Room of Requirement could become whatever a person most needed, yet she was so accustomed to how it looked during their D.A. meetings – bookshelves stacked with Defense Against the Dark Arts volumes, cushions scattered around the floor – that she sometimes forgot it was the Room of Requirement at all. Now, she realized, she and Draco had to be inside the Room of Hidden Things, for as far as her eyes could see, centuries' worth of discarded junk stretched around them into the distance.

"What are we doing here?" she inquired of Draco, honestly curious. "Do you need to hide something?"

In response, Draco seized her by the shoulders, hauled her toward him, and kissed her fiercely.

Luna's knees nearly buckled. She slumped against Draco, too surprised to kiss him back for half a breath. Then her brain – or maybe it was something a little less logical – kicked in, and she found herself twining her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his with an answering fervor.

For what seemed like several long, lovely hours, but must really have been mere minutes, they kissed with wild abandon. Draco deftly snatched the hat from Luna's head, coiling his fingers in her long blonde curls to pull her even closer, though it didn't seem possible that he could hold her any tighter; Luna, who felt rather like she was standing to one side observing herself even as every nerve ending in her body caught fire, pushed the thick wool coat off Draco's shoulders, then shrugged out of her own jacket.

She wasn't sure exactly how many clothes she might have taken off if Draco hadn't suddenly pulled back, his lips breaking free from hers. She made a small, impatient noise, and didn't even feel embarrassed when he chuckled.

He rested his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly. The intensity of his sapphire eyes made her weak-kneed again.

It was a really delicious feeling, falling in love with someone, Luna decided. A bit dizzier than she'd expected, but pleasant all the same.

"Sorry about that," Draco offered dryly, looking anything but.

"I'm not." Luna blushed a little at her own boldness. "That was…nice."

"Yes, it was." Draco traced her cheekbone with the tip of his index finger; Luna shivered as a jolt of electricity chased down her spine. He smiled, his lips curving up gently, tantalizingly close to hers. "But I'd planned on making your first kiss quite special. Not so…whatever that was."

"Wonderful?" Luna suggested dreamily. "Amazing? Incredible?"

Draco was smirking. Luna quite adored the devilish glint in his eyes as he stopped her mouth with a kiss. This time, his lips were tender against hers/ Luna melted all the same, wrapping her arms around his neck again and giving herself up entirely to the warm pressure of his mouth, the heat of his hands gripping her waist…

Sometime later, Draco broke the kiss again, this time stepping back to put some distance between them. Luna touched her lips lightly with her fingertips and smiled happily to herself.

Her first kiss. It was incredible – she couldn't wait to tell Ginny.

Thinking of her friends in the D.A., Luna's happy bubble threatened to burst. She saw the same dark cloud cross Draco's features, almost as if he'd read her mind.

"It's going to be harder now, isn't it?" Luna tried to sound brave and was pleased that her voice at least didn't give away how frightened she actually felt.

Draco nodded. "Yes," he agreed simply. "It'll be harder now."

"I wish…"

He glanced sharply at her. "You wish what?"

"I wish it could be easier." Luna walked over to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

Because she was Luna and naturally given to happiness, the despair passed quickly, like a cloud floating across the sun. She soon smiled up at Draco, who continued to look troubled.

"It'll be all right in the end," she assured him.

"How do you know?"

"Because it always is."

He dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "You know what I wish? I wish I had your spirit."

Luna danced away from him a few steps. "My dad always says if he could bottle me up, he'd be a millionaire." She twirled a pirouette, gracefully avoiding the teetering stacks of junk surrounding them. Which reminded her…

"Why are we here, anyway?" She danced back to stand in front of Draco, who was watching her with an amused grin. "This is the Room of Hidden Things, isn't it?" He nodded. "Are you hiding something?"

Draco couldn't quite meet her eyes. "I just like to come here to think," he answered. "To be alone."

Luna knew Draco well enough to know when he wasn't being entirely honest, but she also trusted him to tell her what she needed to know in time.

And so, instead of pressing him, she caught both of his hands in hers and smiled brightly up at him. "Well, you're not alone anymore."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen: Revealed

"_Legilimens_!"

Draco gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white, though he managed to keep his eyes open and his expression perfectly blank as the outside consciousness invaded his own. The room around him seemed to dissolve as he concentrated on seeing in his mind's eye only what he wanted the Dark Lord to see.

_Potter, slowly warming to the idea of Draco as his ally while they leaned against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, watching a storm blow in across the Forbidden Forest._

_Granger, standing up for him with McGonagall in the snow-packed street outside The Three Broomsticks._

_Luna, smiling in her dreamy way at him across the small desk in McGonagall's office while they argued over which House had the best Quidditch team._

_Weasley, storming out of the Room of Requirement while Potter and Granger looked on, stricken._

The hard part was not allowing himself to think of what he _didn't _want the Dark Lord to see – like his ability to transform into the great silver panther, or his battle with Greyback, or his confession to Potter that he was supposed to murder Dumbledore, or his stolen moment with Luna in the Room of Hidden Things. Because the second Draco thought of his secrets, those memories would appear in his mind, where they were accessible to Voldemort.

Occlumency, Draco had learned, was really about lying to oneself. To be a proficient Occlumens, especially against a Legilimens as skilled as Voldemort, required one to compartmentalize not just memories but emotions, because memories were tied to emotions. If he couldn't think of practicing Shield charms with Luna during D.A. meetings without also feeling that strangely electrifying rush her presence created in him, for instance, then the instant he recalled that memory – which was, ostensibly, safe for the Dark Lord to see, as it only confirmed Draco's story that he had lied his way into Potter's confidence – every other memory connected to his feelings for Luna would also be brought to the surface.

Luckily, Draco was very good at deception in all its forms. Including self-deception.

He felt the pressure on his mind let up as the invading force retreated. He had schooled himself to show no relief that the ordeal was over; it wasn't supposed to be an ordeal, after all, since he wasn't supposed to be hiding anything from Voldemort. His mind was supposed to be an open book to the Dark Lord, because if Voldemort for one moment suspected otherwise, Draco's game would be up.

His mind his own once more, Draco blinked the room back into focus.

It was Granger, not Voldemort, standing in front of him. They were not in the Malfoys' luxurious home; they were in an empty classroom down in the dungeons that Draco had co-opted for these private lessons.

Granger's lips were stretched into a taut line, her pretty face showing the strain of trying to break into his thoughts.

"How'd I do?" Draco asked, rubbing his temples. Occlumency practice always left him with a roaring headache.

"Much better," Granger declared primly, sounding every bit as teacher-like as she looked with her hair scraped back into a bun and the sleeves of her robes rolled up to her elbows. "I didn't get any glimpses of Greyback this time."

Draco stood, stretched, and walked in a slow circle around the room, trying to relax his knotted muscles. Granger took a seat at the long, low table that bisected the room; she always brought her backpack with her, returning to her own studying whenever Draco needed a break. He left her alone, feigning interest in the small, clear bottles of congealed potions, most gone rank with age, that filled the bookshelves along the dungeon's walls. In truth, he was worrying about the upcoming holiday, when he would be facing Voldemort for real.

It was late. They'd been practicing for the better part of two hours at the end of an already-full day of classes. All Draco really wanted to do was to limp down one more level to the Slytherin dormitory and crawl into his bed, but with the holiday break just days away, he knew he needed as much practice as he could possibly squeeze in.

Besides, Draco wasn't in a hurry to face his Housemates. If he waited just an hour more, he consoled his weary body, everyone else would be asleep.

Granger looked tired, too, Draco noted, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She also looked worried. She was pretending to be absorbed in her Ancient Runes text, but Draco could see her surreptitiously watching him from under her lashes. He carefully avoided her eyes.

He'd been expecting her to confront him about the situation with his Housemates for almost three weeks now, since the day after his very public declaration of support for Potter in Hogsmeade. He had no idea what he was supposed to say when she finally worked up the courage to voice her concerns – it was too bizarre for Hermione Granger to be worried about him. Draco knew he hadn't earned her forgiveness, so whenever she showed him the slightest kindness, he felt so terribly guilty he wished she'd just continue to despise him.

Being loathed Draco could handle. Being forgiven was still new to him.

Finally, Granger gave up on the pretense of studying, closed her book, and rested her elbows lightly on the table. Trying and failing to sound nonchalant, she asked, "So…are things any better?"

Draco smiled thinly. "Why do you care so much, Granger?" He couldn't resist baiting her. He half-hoped to get a rise out of her; maybe she would stomp out in high temper and forget trying to be kind. "I figured you'd be the first to say I deserve whatever I get."

"Not everyone cares about revenge," she replied coolly.

Resigning himself to the fact that she wasn't going to let the subject drop now she'd worked up enough nerve to broach it, Draco walked over to where Granger sat. Wordlessly, he flipped back the sleeves of his robe to reveal a series of angry, finger-shaped bruises circling both his wrists.

Granger winced and looked away. "Crabbe and Goyle?" she inquired tightly.

"Just Crabbe, actually." Draco worked hard to keep his voice light. When she glanced up at him doubtfully, he reluctantly confessed, "The ones on my ribs are from Goyle."

Draco hadn't meant to tell her (or anyone, for that matter) about what he was suffering in the Slytherin dungeon. But it was next to impossible to hide everything from someone who routinely invaded his mind, the way he'd asked Granger to do so he could practice fortifying his thoughts against the Dark Lord. And it had taken just one memory of Crabbe and Goyle slamming him to the floor of the Slytherin common room for Granger to gasp in horror, drop her wand, and demand to know what, exactly, he was enduring at the hands of his so-called friends.

Not that Draco was surprised by his Housemates' capacity for cruelty. He did have to admit, though, that he'd been unprepared for how few qualms any of them seemed to have about turning so savagely on him, as if the last five and a half years of supposed friendship counted for absolutely nothing. Draco was ashamed to realize that he'd thought such things mattered to his Housemates. Blaise Zabini, who was in Draco's year and, Draco suspected, had always coveted his position as the Slytherins' de facto leader, had led the charge: The day of the Hogsmeade showdown with Weasley, Draco, his thoughts still on Luna and the lovely hour they'd just spent together in the Room of Hidden Things, had been caught completely off-guard by Zabini's Stunning spell the moment he'd stepped into the common room.

On his back, Draco had been immediately set upon by a pack of sixth- and seventh-year boys.

They hadn't bothered with wands. They hadn't even said anything. They had just beaten him.

When it was over, Draco had crawled into a corner and used the several Healing spells he knew to mend three broken ribs, a fractured right arm, a busted nose and a shattered cheekbone. Madam Pomfrey would have done a better job of it, of course, but Draco had no intention of reporting the attack to the Hogwarts teachers.

Nothing on that level of violence had happened again, thankfully, though unfortunately, that had been the memory Granger had plucked from Draco's mind a scant two days later. On Zabini's orders, Crabbe and Goyle occasionally pushed him around, but mostly, Draco suffered a relentless barrage of bullying. He had to constantly be on guard against jinxes, to the point of casting protective spells around his bed before he went to sleep. The one night he'd neglected to do so, he'd woken to find himself being hoisted into the air by his ankle; Zabini had dangled him upside-down over his bed while Crabbe and Goyle stripped him to his underwear, after which they had taken the show to the common room so the girls could join in humiliating him.

Draco's cheeks still burned at the memory. Still, he was determined to endure. Minor indignities and weekly beatings were, he was discovering, something a person could learn to live with.

Granger, predictably, had wanted him to go straight to the Headmaster. Draco had refused. "I chose this," he had reminded her, unable to explain fully that he simply couldn't stand the idea of Dumbledore's pity – not when Draco had spent the better part of six years despising the Headmaster for being a lover of Mudbloods and a champion of half-breeds.

"You chose to be tortured?" Granger had shot back disbelievingly. "I don't care what you've done, no one deserves to be beaten like that. They could've killed you!" She had shuddered at the memories she'd seen in Draco's head.

"It's no less than what I would've done to any of them, if the position had been reserved," Draco had reasoned.

Granger had surprised him by flatly disagreeing. "You've been foul to people, no doubt, but I don't feature even you beating someone half to death."

Uncomfortable with being granted the benefit of the doubt by Hermione Granger of all people, Draco had insisted, "They're just afraid. They want to be sure that Voldemort knows they aren't tainted by my disloyalty. I suppose some of them," he'd been thinking especially of Zabini, "fancy themselves Death Eaters in the making, but for the most part, it's about survival."

"Harry could…"

"Could what? Offer to let me bunk in the Gryffindor dormitory?"

"You stood up for him. He'd do the same for you."

"Do you really want to make a war between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Granger?" Draco had demanded bluntly. "You don't think Potter's got enough to worry about without adding defending me to the list?"

He'd scented victory then. He knew how protective she was of Potter – she was like Luna in that regard. "I can handle this," he had concluded. "So just don't tell anybody about it, and let me deal with it my way."

And that was how they had left it.

For the most part, Draco thought he'd done an admirable job of "dealing" with the situation, actually. He simply spent as much time as possible away from his Housemates. His days were filled with classes, and not even Crabbe and Goyle were thick enough to attack him in front of a teacher. His free periods Draco sat with loads of other students in the castle's common areas, and whether by accident or by design, the other sixth-year members of the D.A. seemed to always be nearby; rather than watch him take his meals all alone at the far end of the Slytherin table, Padma Patil had even insisted that he eat with her and Luna at the Ravenclaw table. Draco knew his Housemates well enough to know they wouldn't attack while he was so well-protected. They were interested in bullying defenseless targets, not facing down Potter's well-trained soldiers.

To avoid the Slytherin common room, Draco split his evenings between practicing Occlumency with Granger in the dungeons, sneaking off alone to the Room of Hidden Things (a secret he guarded carefully from Granger, Luna, and everyone else), and helping Ginny and Luna study for their O.W.L.s in the library. He saw little of Potter, who honestly didn't seem to be around much, except for their classes, where he was increasingly distracted. Draco hoped that was a good sign, an indication that maybe the Chosen One and Dumbledore were making progress in taking down Voldemort with whatever they were up to in Potter's not-so-secret private lessons.

Draco did see less of Luna than he would have liked. They hadn't been alone together since that wonderful afternoon following the Hogsmeade visit – not because Draco wasn't keen to spend more time kissing her (quite the opposite, actually) but because he feared the two of them being cornered off somewhere by a gang of Slytherins. Draco had even been careful not to show too much open affection for Luna; their little date in Hogsmeade notwithstanding, he didn't think anyone outside of the D.A. had figured out that they were an item. He didn't want to make her the target of his Housmates' cruelty.

If that rat-bastard Zabini ever touched Luna, Draco was sure he wouldn't be able to hold his temper in check, as he was now. The truth was, Draco could have Cursed Zabini – who was more style than substance – with both hands tied behind his back if he'd been so inclined, but he had a master plan in mind that involved eventually being viewed as Voldemort's Chosen One by his Housemates. Draco reasoned that Transfiguring Zabini into a ferret, as Mad-Eye Moody had once done to him, might put a wrinkle in that plan, so it was best for everybody that Luna remain unnoticed by his enemies.

Realizing that he'd been lost in silent thought for several minutes, Draco came back to the present to find Granger eyeing him with undisguised sympathy. He turned away from her, embarrassed by her concern.

"Can you survive this all year?"

"I suppose I could, but I'm hoping I won't have to," Draco replied evenly. Granger arched a questioning eyebrow. "Think about it. If I come back from holiday alive – and I admit that's a big if – everyone in Slytherin is going to know that means Voldemort approves of what I'm doing."

Draco smirked, imagining the look on Zabini's face when he strolled onto the Hogwarts Express after Christmas, unscathed.

"I have to say, I'm looking forward to making them all grovel."

He could see Granger didn't approve of that: She sniffed, looking even more teacher-like than usual as she did. Rather than chide him, however, she suddenly asked, "So what're you getting Luna for Christmas?"

Draco was too surprised to answer right away. He wasn't surprised that Granger had picked up on his feelings for Luna – she wasn't an idiot, by any means – but he was surprised that she'd just asked him a personal question. In all the hours they'd spent alone together since Halloween, in all the times she'd broken past his mental defenses and witnessed some of his most private memories, Granger had never shown the slightest interest in Draco's life.

He was still struggling to formulate a coherent answer when she struck.

"_Legilimens_!"

_Bloody hell, she's good…_

The Dark Lord would likely attack his mind in just such a fashion, Draco realized, even as he rocked backward from the force of Granger's mental assault. Voldemort wouldn't give him time to prepare himself; he would try to get him to drop his defenses, or at the very least try to catch him off-guard. And it worked.

Before Draco could clear his mind and erect his mental barriers, Granger was in his head.

He knew what she would see, because it was the one thing he wanted most to keep from her. The Room of Hidden Things. Draco's thoughts jumped from Luna's dreamy expression as his lips crashed into hers (the first thing he always thought of when he thought of that odd, junk-filled room) to an entirely different scene – to himself alone amidst the assorted piles of broken and discarded items, yanking a dust-filled rug off a tall, black, silver-handled cabinet…

By force of will, Draco pushed Granger out of his mind. It was painful; she resisted more fiercely than she ever had before, and fighting her off left him with the sensation of needles stabbing through his skull. In the end, Draco won, though it was a testament to Granger's skill as a witch that he was panting with the effort of it, as if they'd been physically wrestling.

"You. Unbelievable. Bastard."

Draco returned to his senses to find he'd fallen to his knees in the center of the cold, damp floor. He rested his palms weakly on the stones and looked up at Granger, who glared down at him from where she had slumped against the long, low table, equally spent by their mental struggle.

The weariness did nothing to quell her fury.

Draco remained silent as she spit at him, "You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you? I can't believe this! How could I have been so stupid?"

Pushing off the table, Granger paced angrily around the room, throwing her hands up in the air. "Ron was right about you. And to think, I thought – I thought you could actually change!"

Wand clenched at her side, Granger seemed torn between Cursing him and storming out of the dungeon. To stop her doing either, Draco broke in, "It's not like you think."

"Stop lying!" she shouted back. "I saw what's in your head, Draco. I'm not stupid. I know what a Vanishing Cabinet is used for."

She had still called him by his first name, which, despite the venom in her voice, gave Draco a tiny flicker of hope that he might still have a chance to win back her trust.

Picking himself up off the floor, Draco thought what an idiot he was for landing in such a predicament at all. For showing so much of his hand to Granger, who was justifiably predisposed to think the worst of him, when he was so close to figuring out a way to really strike a powerful blow against Voldemort – all because the mere thought of Luna caused him to make the most sophomoric blunders.

Like fighting Weasley in full view of the entire school, just because he couldn't stand looking like a coward in front of Luna. That had turned out to be a really smart decision, Draco derided himself, wincing slightly as a sharp pain shot through his bruised ribs.

"You're right." Draco understood Granger well enough to know she needed to hear that before she would listen to anything else. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "When this year started, when I first approached Luna, I was looking for a way to get myself out if things didn't go my way with Potter."

Folding her arms stubbornly across her chest, Granger pressed, "What I saw didn't happen at the beginning of the year." Draco gritted his teeth; the girl was too damn perceptive for her own good. "So why are you still repairing the cabinet?"

Draco toyed with the idea of lying, or at least offering a half-truth, but he quickly deduced that too much was riding on Granger continuing to trust him. If she went to Potter with this, whatever inroads he'd made there would be for naught. Granger wasn't like Luna. Luna tolerated his evasions because she believed Draco had really, truly changed sides. Even Potter seemed to accept that Draco probably held back more than he revealed. But Granger was a different story. She'd given up more than either Luna or Potter to help Draco, of that he was acutely aware.

She had given up Weasley, whom she was clearly – and inexplicably, in Draco's book – in love with.

Now, she needed some reassurance that she hadn't made such a sacrifice for nothing.

"I wanted to wait to tell this to Potter until after the holiday," Draco explained slowly. "If I didn't come back, I figured there wouldn't be any point in him knowing about it."

Granger didn't back down. "Tell me. I'll decide whether we tell Harry."

Draco accepted that. "The cabinet isn't just a way out of Hogwarts. Assuming I can get it working properly, it has a twin."

Displaying her typical quick-wittedness, Granger realized, "They form a passage." Draco nodded. She narrowed her eyes at him. "A passage to where, exactly?"

"At the moment, Borgin and Burke's."

Draco didn't need to tell Granger that Knockturn Alley would have been a perfectly logical place for him to escape if he'd decided escape was needed. The proprietors of Borgin and Burke's were terrified of Draco's family – they wouldn't have questioned why he was suddenly popping out of one of their cabinets. By the time they got wind that Draco was being hunted by the Dark Lord, Draco had planned to be well away from London, his vault at Gringotts cleared out, halfway to China or somewhere else Voldemort's power didn't yet reach.

But of course Borgin and Burke's wasn't where the Vanishing Cabinet would remain if it was to be of any use to Potter. Granger was coming around to that idea, as well; Draco could see the wheels in her exceptional mind turning. He waited patiently, knowing she would prefer to put it together herself rather than have him explain.

"You want to steal the cabinet from Borgin and Burke's," she finally said, in a tone of grudging respect, "so we have a way in and out of Hogwarts that Voldemort doesn't know about." Draco nodded. "And where do you plan on us going, once we leave the castle?"

"Well, for starters, I thought we could rescue Ollivander," Draco replied. "I don't know what Voldemort wants with him, but I'm sure it's better for our side if he doesn't get it."

Granger didn't miss a thing. Unlike Potter, she wasn't easily distracted by the prospect of a rescue mission. "And what else, if that's 'for starters'?"

In spite of himself, Draco almost smiled at her pugnacity. He resisted the urge, however, for fear that she might think he was mocking her and decide to Curse him after all.

"If Voldemort really manages to come to power – I mean really come to power, like taking over the Ministry – it's going to mean a lot of unpleasant changes in our world. The people who will suffer most will be Muggle-borns."

Granger, a Muggle-born herself, stiffened at that, though she didn't try to deny the truth of his words. No one was more of a Pureblood fanatic than the Dark Lord.

"So? How's a secret passage going to stop Voldemort overthrowing the Ministry of Magic?"

"I have no idea how to stop that from happening, Granger," Draco rejoined patiently. "But I do know I've heard my aunt Bella go on and on about how the first thing her precious Dark Lord will do is purge Hogwarts of anyone whose blood isn't pure."

Granger regarded him with ill-concealed astonishment. "You want a way to smuggle Muggle-borns out of here safely? So they can go into hiding somewhere?"

Draco felt a little silly when she put it that way. "I thought it sounded reasonable," he offered, a bit defensively, since apparently she didn't.

But as it turned out, Granger wasn't disagreeing with him. Her surprise came from another source entirely. "Of course it's reasonable," she returned. "It's just – I mean, I thought…Well, you're not exactly a fan of Muggle-borns yourself."

Ah. There it was, the elephant in the room between them: Draco Malfoy had been the first person to ever call Hermione Granger a Mudblood. Recalling the pompous little ass he'd been over the past sixteen years, Draco had the decency to duck his head in shame.

A brief, awkward silence fell.

_Stop being a git and apologize. You know it's what you should do._

Although part of him seriously doubted Granger wanted his apology, Draco decided it was the least he owed her. He gritted his teeth. This good-guy thing was turning out to involve a whole lot more bearing-of-the-soul than he'd anticipated.

"What you said before," he began, unable to force his gaze up off the floor, though he could feel her eyes boring into the top of his blonde head. "About me changing. It's not what I intended when I offered to help Potter. I'm not interested in being, well, being like Potter. But, when I'm around you all, it's…It makes me see things differently."

Granger, as she tended to do, took pity on him. "It's all right," she interrupted brusquely. "You don't have to – "

"I want to."

Draco was surprised to find that was actually the truth. Suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to meet her gaze; her cheeks pinked, which he knew reflected his own blush, yet Draco plunged ahead anyway.

"I'm sorry for calling you a Mudblood."

There, he thought, he'd said it – he'd apologized to Hermione Granger, and the world had not ended. In fact, he felt so relieved he was able to add, "I should have told you that a long time ago."

Granger smiled shyly. Draco became interested in the phials of sickly-looking potions once more as he vowed to bury this particular memory so deep not even the most skilled Legilimens in the history of the world would ever be able to recover it. He thought he could live with Granger knowing he wasn't quite as awful as he sometimes made out, because she was turning out to be probably the most decent person he'd ever known (except for Luna, that was), but he didn't fancy anyone else ever discovering that he had a softer side.

"So." Granger cleared her throat, apparently as eager as Draco was to change the subject. "I guess I just don't understand one thing." He waited expectantly for her to continue. "Why didn't you want to tell Harry about this in case you, you know, don't come back?"

Rather touched that she chose not to say "in case you die," suggesting that she didn't want him to, Draco did his best to put on a brave face.

"You know Potter. If he thinks there's even the slightest chance he could do something to protect all the helpless Muggle-borns, especially you, he'll never let it go. And if Voldemort finds out I'm a traitor," Draco went on, seeing Granger's bewilderment, "he won't just kill me. He'll break me. He'll take every single last secret I have – including the Vanishing Cabinet here at Hogwarts – before he finishes me."

Granger paled at the mental picture Draco had just painted. "And he could use that against Harry," she finished in a small, frightened voice.

Her troubled eyes met Draco's, her gaze searching. "You really want Harry to win, don't you? Even…even if it won't help you."

Draco could see no point in lying. "Yes."

"Why? You always seemed to hate him so much."

"I still can't say I'm part of the Potter fan club," Draco confessed wryly.

"Then, I don't understand." Granger's brow was furrowed. "Why would you care about protecting him?"

"Because," Draco answered, taking a deep breath as he made what he hoped would be the last confession of the evening, "even if I'm not here to see it, I know Potter will protect the people I care for."

Understanding dawned on Granger's face. Draco knew she was recalling the memory she'd just pulled from his mind, the memory that had led her to see the Vanishing Cabinet in the first place – the memory of his first, glorious kiss with Luna.

She got it then, Draco could tell by how her blush deepened, turning her cheeks a lovely rose. It had suddenly become clear to her why Draco, who had never suffered on anyone else's behalf in his entire pampered existence, was all at once willing to silently endure his Housemates' ruthlessness and, more importantly, to face the possibility of being tortured to death by Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Because Draco had finally found something – or, more to the point, someone – he cared enough about to risk everything for.

"Oh. I see. Well." Granger tried to cover her discomfiture by adopting her best teacher-knows-best air. "Well, I guess there's no reason to tell Harry anything about the cabinet just yet."

Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"I – don't mention it." Still flustered, Granger stuffed her wand into the pocket of her robes. "I think I'll just go on up to bed now."

She hurried to the door, then turned with her hand on the knob to look back at him. Her expression was disarmingly kind.

"I really think you're going to be all right, Draco. You're more talented than you give yourself credit for."

He forced back a smile he didn't really feel. "We'll know soon enough."

It almost defied belief how much had changed since the first of September, Draco reflected as he boarded the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station amidst the throng of students heading home for the holiday recess. Three and a half months ago, he would've given even odds that Potter and Company would as soon Curse him as speak to him. Now, he was threading his way down the crowded corridor in Luna Lovegood's wake, bound for a compartment where waited not only Potter but Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom.

Potter was seated between Granger and Ginny, so Luna scooted in beside Longbottom, who, despite the fact that they were leaving behind their studies, was staring glumly out the window at the newly-fallen snow. His toad – Trevor, Draco thought its name was – rested quietly on Longbottom's knee, every now and again croaking mournfully, as if it had picked up on its master's mood.

"Have you heard from Hannah, Neville?" Granger inquired kindly, after greeting Luna and, to everyone's surprise (including his), Draco.

Longbottom nodded sadly. "Her dad's still refusing to let her come back, even though she's told him she wants to."

Draco squirmed a little in his seat. Just a week before, Hannah Abbott had been pulled out of Herbology and sent home because her mother, a witch who had married a Muggle, had been found murdered in the Abbotts' home. It hadn't escaped Draco's notice that Longbottom and Hannah spent quite a lot of time together in the greenhouses. While he felt badly for what had happened to the girl's mother, he was markedly ill-at-ease in the face of Longbottom's concern for his girlfriend.

Forging real friendships might have come more naturally to Draco if he'd just known where he stood with everyone he was supposed to be friends with now. Take Granger, for instance. Since they'd more or less made their peace during his last Occlumency lesson, he was finding it easier and easier to relax in her presence, to say what came to mind instead of censoring his every thought for fear of giving some offense – even the offense of simply speaking to her, when he wasn't certain she wanted him to. But, aside from Luna, with Potter, Ginny, Longbottom, and the rest of the D.A., Draco still wasn't entirely sure how to act.

So he said nothing while Granger, Ginny, and Luna consoled Longbottom. Once, he glanced up to find Potter studying him, but they both quickly looked away, still distinctly uncomfortable in one another's presence. In fact, Draco mused, Potter had seemed more reticent around him since the day Draco had stood up for him to Weasley.

_Maybe I'm not the only one who isn't sure how to go about this friendship thing._

Eventually, the talk turned to what everyone planned to do for the holidays. Draco knew from idle gossip that Granger usually spent the winter recess with Weasley and his family; this year, however, she talked animatedly about a trip abroad with her Muggle parents. Draco thought her excitement seemed a bit forced, but he didn't blame her for not wanting to spend a few weeks with Weasley, who still wasn't speaking to her or Potter. Or maybe they weren't speaking to him. In any event, he was surprised that Potter had elected to accompany Ginny home for the holidays. Draco had heard that Potter despised his Muggle guardians, so it made sense that he wouldn't choose to spend Christmas with them, yet Draco wondered why Potter didn't just remain at Hogwarts with the other students who didn't go home over the break.

Ginny inadvertently laid that mystery to rest by saying to Granger, "Mum's really disappointed that you're not going to join us, Hermione. I think she's looking for anything to distract her from Fleur – she threw a fit when I let slip Harry was thinking about not coming."

Longbottom (who had spoken barely a word for most of the trip) brightened at that. "You mean Fleur Delacour?" Ginny nodded. "Why's she coming to your house for Christmas?"

"Because," Ginny pulled a face, "she's engaged to my brother, Bill."

Longbottom and Potter looked as impressed as Draco felt. "Is he the one with the long hair?" Luna asked. Draco was surprised. Luna had been staring dreamily off into space; he hadn't realized she was even paying attention.

"Yeah, that's Bill," Ginny confirmed.

"He's handsome," Luna observed. Draco frowned. He saw Granger hide a smile behind her hand, apparently finding his jealousy entertaining.

"So what're you doing for the holiday, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, Dad and I usually take a trip somewhere. Last year we went to Egypt and searched for the Manticore."

Granger half-choked on a Chocolate Frog she'd purchased from the Trolley. "I'm sorry, a what?"

"A Manticore," Luna repeated patiently. Ignoring Granger's dubious stare, she continued blithely, "We didn't actually find one, but we met a wizard who was fairly certain a colony of them used to live near the Pyramids at Giza."

"Sounds like fun," Potter observed, grinning in an amused sort of way that was not unkind. Like Draco, Potter seemed to enjoy Luna's eccentricities. "Where are you going this year?"

"We'd talked about going to Sweden to hunt for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but I don't think we'll be able to. Dad's really busy with _The Quibbler._" Underneath its airy timbre, Draco heard a note of real pride in Luna's voice. "Subscriptions are up almost twenty percent. Dad's having to work night and day to meet demand."

Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Spectrespecs were that popular?"

Granger answered for Luna, in her usual know-it-all tone. "You really should pick up a newer edition of _The Quibbler_, Ginny. Luna's dad's about the only person who's not afraid to report the real truth these days."

Draco was startled by that revelation as well. He made a mental note to start paying more attention to what was going on in the world around him – especially Luna's world, since her father and his zany tabloid were obviously so important to her.

No one asked Draco about his holiday plans, but he didn't take offense at that. Even if he hadn't been facing the possibility of a horrible death at the Dark Lord's hands, he wouldn't have been anticipating a happy Christmas, what with his father imprisoned in Azkaban, his mother a virtual recluse, and his family's home occupied by Death Eaters.

In fact, aside from Granger's inquiry into Hannah's well-being, they didn't discuss anything sad or frightful during the entire journey. Draco found it hard to believe, given what awaited him at Malfoy Manor, that he actually enjoyed himself that afternoon. It easily qualified as one of his best days at Hogwarts in six years, in fact, sitting quietly with his arm draped around Luna's shoulders, listening to the others chat about everyday things and, occasionally, throwing in a comment of his own, usually in response to a question from Ginny, who still seemed determined to make him feel included.

As the train drew near to King's Cross station, however, Draco felt Granger's gaze on him. Her worry was visibly mounting. He wanted to ask her to stop, to leave him this one unblemished memory – perhaps his last ever of being with Luna and her rather remarkable friends.

"I should go find Susan before we stop," Longbottom announced, when they were very close to the station. "She's going to take Hannah the Christmas present I got for her. Good holidays, everyone."

"Bye, Neville," the girls chorused.

"See you soon," Potter said.

Ginny stood and stretched. The train was slowing down now. "I guess we ought to go find Ron," she remarked to Harry, sounding decidedly unenthusiastic about that.

Luna and Granger rose, and the three girls embraced in turn, promising to send each other owls very soon. Draco, feeling a little awkward in the midst of all the farewells, tried to make himself invisible in one corner of the small compartment.

Potter hugged Luna – Draco felt a twinge of jealousy, but only a twinge – and, after a moment's hesitation, offered Draco an uncertain smile.

"You'll send word, when you can, to let us know you're all right?"

That was the closest Potter had come to acknowledging the danger Draco was soon to face. Draco nodded. "I can probably manage to send an owl, if you want me to."

"Do." That was Ginny, linking her arm through Potter's. "I don't think any of us will be able to really relax until we know how it goes with You-Know-Who."

Draco had no idea how to respond to that, so he just nodded mutely and studied the tops of his shoes. Potter and Ginny shuffled toward the door; Draco could feel Granger's eyes on him, but he was too embarrassed to look up.

The door scraped open. Before Draco could see who was coming in, he suddenly had his arms full of Hermione Granger.

"Be careful," she whispered into his ear, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Stunned, Draco stood frozen for half a minute, trying to process the fact that Hermione Granger was hugging him like she'd just discovered he was her long-lost brother. Finally, he recovered his wits enough to place his hands lightly on her back, afraid Potter might Curse him if he showed more affection than that – Draco wasn't entirely certain which girl, Hermione or Ginny, Potter was really interested in.

_You just thought of her as Hermione, _Draco's inner voice mocked him. _So much for not bothering with making friends…_

A strange choking sound from the doorway of their compartment brought Draco's gaze around. He instantly dropped his arms to his side and reached for his wand, though as it turned out, there was no need.

Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, mouth open, eyes bulging. Instead of attacking, however, he seemed to collapse in on himself, his face draining of color rather than purpling with rage.

Draco had the sinking feeling that Weasley had been coming to make amends. Only seeing Hermione in Draco's arms had an immediate chilling effect on those good intentions.

"Ron," Ginny started, but her brother just shook his head, glared menacingly at Draco, and stormed away.

Potter sighed. "Happy Christmas," Draco heard him mutter, as he led Ginny and a flustered-looking Hermione into the corridor.

Alone with Luna.

The odd scene from moments before vanished from Draco's mind as swiftly as if he'd been hit with a Memory spell. Luna had slipped her slender fingers through his and now smiled sweetly up at him.

"Well," he observed dryly, "that was awkward."

Luna laughed, a bright, happy sound, like a springtime waterfall. "I'll miss you, you know."

The sentiment was so simple and endearing that Draco found himself at a momentary loss for words. Finding his voice, he managed, "I'll miss you, too."

_And I pray to all the gods I see you again._

Not anxious to dwell on the possibility of his impending doom, Draco summoned the courage to do what he'd been avoiding for nearly a week: Slipping his hand into the pocket of his tailored black jacket, he produced a small, green velvet pouch tied with a bright-red bow.

"A Christmas present?" Luna's blue eyes danced as he dropped the pouch into her upturned palm.

"Open it," Draco urged. He hoped she couldn't tell how nervous he was. He'd agonized over what to buy her for weeks – money wasn't really a concern for the Malfoys, even with his father's recent fall from grace, yet Draco hadn't been able to think of a single thing Luna would like, despite the fortune at his disposal. Her tastes were so, well, mythical, and short of hunting down a Cherufe, he hadn't been able to think of something worthy of their first holiday as a couple.

Assuming he survived the coming ordeal and all the rest that lay ahead before Voldemort could be defeated, Draco wanted Luna to look back on the early days of their courtship fondly. He wanted to somehow make things special enough to outlast all the pain and uncertainty that surrounded them right now.

Untying the ribbon, Luna gasped in surprise as a most unusual necklace spilled out into her hand. It was a small, lime-green rock, shaped distinctly like a seahorse, with a tiny hole drilled in the top, through which ran a delicate, solid-gold chain.

"Draco, it's beautiful!" She gazed up at him, clearly delighted. He couldn't resist smiling back, as much from relief as pleasure – he'd never cared so much whether someone liked a gift of his before. "But how did you know?"

"Potter," Draco replied simply.

"You asked Harry what to get me for Christmas?"

"Not exactly, no." Draco grinned, trying to imagine how _that _conversation would have started off. "But I was sort of desperate for ideas, so I asked Ginny if she had any thoughts, and…Well, I guess she said something to Potter, and he told her about this," he inclined his head toward the stone. "About how much you fancied it. So I asked Padma Patil to nick it from your school trunk."

Luna held the chain out to him. "Put in on me?"

She turned her back to him, holding her cloud of honey-blonde curls away from her neck. Draco's heart started to pound again as he lifted the necklace over her head and laid it gently against the smooth white skin of her throat. Leaning down to snap the clasp, he noticed that her skin exuded the faintest hint of jasmine. Rather dizzily, he wondered how girls like Luna could manage to be so effortlessly yet heartbreakingly lovely, right down to smelling delectable.

Resting his nose against her soft curls, Draco pressed his lips to the curve of Luna's ear. She shivered.

"Happy Christmas," he breathed.

Luna turned gracefully on the spot. Time seemed to slow down as she linked her arms behind his neck, drawing his mouth down to hers. Draco let his eyelids drift shut, let all his fear, all his confusion, everything except for this one perfect moment slide away…

The first time they had kissed, in the Room of Hidden Things, Luna had been the one who was too weak in the knees to stand on her own. Now it was Draco's turn. She kissed him with a tender passion that literally stole his breath. Falling back against the wall, he placed his hands on either side of her slender waist as she stretched on tip-toe to deepen the kiss, her tongue sliding easily past his yielding lips, tasting sweetly of chocolates and peppermints.

He could have gone on kissing her all day, but the train whistle blew just then. If they didn't want to ride back to Hogwarts (which might have been all right, a few more hours alone together, if Draco's life hadn't been riding on the fact that the Dark Lord was expecting him at Malfoy Manor that evening), they needed to disembark.

Luna sighed as their lips parted. She didn't step away immediately, however; instead, she laid her head against Draco's chest, holding him close.

"Come back to me."

It was the first and only time Luna had given any indication that she feared Draco might not survive what was coming. He wrapped his arms around her. More than anything, he wanted to tell her not to worry, that he would be fine. But being with Luna – with all of them, really, Ginny and Hermione and Longbottom and the Patil twins and the little Creevey brothers and, yes, even Potter – was changing Draco. He realized he didn't want to lie to Luna, even when the lie might spare her pain.

So he gave her what he could.

"I'll try."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: Home

Given the horrors he'd been anticipating, Draco's homecoming was rather anti-climactic.

No one waited in the backseat of the limousine that picked him up in front of King's Cross station – not his mother, not his aunt, no one. As the car drove up the long, winding lane to the front door of Malfoy Manor, Draco half-expected to find a contingent of grim Death Eaters waiting to usher him inside to face a waiting Voldemort. But the smooth brick path leading up to the mansion was empty. The only creature standing in the ostentatious, marble-tiled foyer was the ancient house-elf Fowler, the Malfoys' grey-skinned butler, who greeted Draco with his typical hollow-eyed stare.

"Where is everyone?" Draco demanded, dropping his heavy wool coat, hat, and leather gloves into Fowler's skinny, outstretched arms.

Swaying a bit under the weight, Fowler droned, "Welcome home, Master Draco." The wrinkles layering Fowler's face caused his mouth to droop in a perpetual frown – or maybe that was just his sour expression, for Draco could never recall seeing the house-elf smile. "Mistress Bella has been called away. Mistress Narcissa is in bed with a headache and sends you her love."

Draco snorted at that. He'd been away since the first of September, and his mother could only be troubled to send her love by house-elf?

"Would you care for some dinner, sir?"

"I'll take a tray in my room," Draco decided. "And have my school trunk brought up straightaway."

"Of course, sir. I'll see to everything."

As it turned out, Draco's room – which was really the size of a small house and decorated exactly to his tastes, with emerald-green sheets draping the king-sized bed, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with volumes on everything from Quidditch to Healing (Draco was a voracious reader, something Hermione Granger would have been shocked to learn, he was sure), a lavish bathroom complete with serpent-handled silver faucets, and a silver-cushioned easy chair facing a gigantic stone fireplace – was where he spent the first part of his holiday. He could only guess at where his aunt Bella was and what she might be up to; he didn't bother asking Fowler for details when the little elf brought up his meals on a silver tray, for a house-elf would have been the last to know a member of the Malfoy family's plans.

He did, however, ask after his mother for the first few days. Fowler's response was always the same: Mistress Narcissa was ill, or tired, or both, and would not be leaving her room that day. She did, of course, send Draco her love.

Draco finally stopped asking. Had his mother truly been ill, he would have insisted on seeing her, but Draco knew Narcissa Malfoy had a stronger constitution than her pale, delicate loveliness suggested. Despite her self-imposed isolation since his father's arrest, in his entire life, Draco had never known his mother to suffer anything more severe than a bad cold. He was certain she wasn't really ailing now. She was avoiding him, plain and simple, because apparently she still disapproved of what she believed to be her son's loyalty to the Dark Lord – disapproved so much that she couldn't even bring herself to lay eyes on him.

Draco fumed over that at first, staring out his window at the snow-covered garden where he and his mother had spent so many hours tending her beloved flowers in happier times. He thought of how she'd told him goodbye that day a few short months ago when he'd left for school, catching his wrist and whispering, "Good luck," as he'd stepped from the car. Had he misread her meaning then? Had she really been trying to tell him that he should defy Voldemort's orders? And if so, did she think he could simply refuse Voldemort outright? Would she rather see her own son dead than a Death Eater?

And wasn't that a bit hypocritical, given the man she had married?

Eventually, Draco let it go. After all, she was his mother. He loved her; he found being angry with her just didn't take. And honestly, the less she knew about what he was doing, the safer she'd be, so he decided to take a page out of Luna's book and opt for sunny optimism: To protect his mother, it was best she stay away.

To fill those long, lonely days leading up to Christmas, Draco practiced the spells his aunt Bella had taught him over the summer. He was also studying ways to protect against those, planning the lessons he wanted to teach the members of the D.A. when he returned to Hogwarts (_if _he returned to Hogwarts was just too uncomfortable a way to think about it, so Draco tried to be positive). Now that most of the members could produce a real Shield charm, it was time to test them with something deadlier than exploding crates. Draco and Potter had privately traded a few ideas about how to do so safely, and with too many empty hours to kill, Draco played out their theories, smiling to himself now and again as he imagined the Creevey brothers high-fiving one another when they succeeded or Parvati Patil closing her eyes in concentration or Potter shyly helping Ginny Weasley with her wand-work.

To an outsider (like Fowler, whom Draco was sure spied on him for his mother), it no doubt seemed that Draco was simply practicing to become a skilled dark wizard, trying his best to earn Voldemort's respect. Smugly, Draco thought how shocked they would all be if they knew what he was really up to – his mother, his mad aunt, Professor Snape, the Dark Lord himself. None of them credited Draco with the courage to do more than cowl to Voldemort's commands. Draco reveled in his secret rebellion. It felt good to be fighting back, even as he continued to carry the heavy weight of fear in the pit of his stomach, knowing that sooner or later, Voldemort would turn up to question him.

Draco had perhaps foolishly imagined himself higher on the Dark Lord's list of priorities than it seemed he actually was. He'd truly expected to face Voldemort the very day he arrived home from Hogwarts, but apparently, Voldemort had bigger concerns than the loyalty of one underage wizard at the moment. Draco didn't allow himself to get comfortable, however – that would be too much like dropping his guard, as he'd done so disastrously with Hermione (yes, he realized, he thought of her as Hermione now, though it didn't make her less of an annoying know-it-all) at their last Occlumency practice. He wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of security, not now, not when he'd come so far.

In fact, Draco focused more than ever on compartmentalizing his emotions and controlling his thoughts. Even though he was sorely tempted to while away the hours daydreaming about Luna, he refused to let his mind revisit their goodbye on the train. He did his best to purge his thoughts of anything he didn't want the Dark Lord to see, and Luna's breathtaking kiss definitely fit into that category.

The story Draco hoped to pass off to Voldemort was simple, shot through with what he prayed would be believable hallmarks of a desperate amateur wizard's plot to carry off an impossible task. Draco wanted Voldemort to believe that, with the sincerest intent of murdering Albus Dumbledore, he'd decided that his best chance was to get close enough to the Headmaster to catch him off-guard, and that the best way to do so would be to befriend the student with the most access to Dumbledore – the Headmaster's pet, Harry Potter. He wanted Voldemort to think that he'd chosen Luna Lovegood, a lonely outcast adopted by Potter and friends, because she would be easy to manipulate, flattered as she would be by the attentions of a handsome, wealthy, popular boy. He intended to make out that his attack on Luna in the Great Hall had been a way to land them in detention together, where (as McGonagall had no doubt told Snape) he had slowly charmed her. That, Draco knew, was how Voldemort's mind worked: Voldemort would never have seen the strength in Luna, would never have realized that tricking her would be nearly impossible, because for all of her oddity, she saw people with amazing clarity; Voldemort would only see her as pathetic, a lonely fool whose naiveté could be easily exploited.

Draco also knew Voldemort's opinion of Potter and Dumbledore, and he planned to play into that in explaining why Potter had chosen to trust him despite their years of enmity. He wanted Voldemort to believe that Potter was enough of a sentimental sod, just like his mentor, to swallow the story of Draco's supposed conversion, especially when Draco offered to train Potter's so-called "army" to fight off Death Eaters.

Three things the Dark Lord could never know. First, and most importantly, he couldn't know that Draco had revealed his mission to kill Dumbledore to anyone, because the Dark Lord had expressly forbidden Draco to speak of those orders. Second, Voldemort couldn't know that Draco had been the one to attack Fenrir Greyback – which meant he could never know that Draco was an Animagus, since Greyback, despite being in Azkaban, was sure to have reported to someone in Voldemort's ranks that his attacker had Transfigured into a silver panther. Draco wasn't concerned that Voldemort had some great love for the vicious werewolf (like most Pureblood-crazed wizards, Voldemort loathed half-breeds, even when they were useful). But he did know that the Dark Lord didn't sanction his minions attacking one another, except on his orders. Like any good general, Voldemort insisted on discipline, and what Draco had done to Greyback could only ever be interpreted as a betrayal. He'd known that from the moment he'd decided to put his plan into action, just like he knew the attack on Greyback was his weakest link, the one small detail that could someday come back to haunt him.

Third, Draco did not want Voldemort to know of his feelings for Luna. Not that the Dark Lord would object to Luna per se. Her father was a nutter, to be sure, but Luna was at least a Pureblood. Still, her father's public opposition to Voldemort – after all, Xenophilus had published Potter's interview about Voldemort murdering Cedric Diggory while _The Prophet _had still had its head buried in the sand – and Luna's own well-known association with Potter and Company would certainly create doubt in the Dark Lord's mind about Draco's true loyalties. And Draco needed Voldemort to be absolutely convinced that the Malfoy family remained wholly and completely bought into the Death Eaters' mission. He needed his allegiance to be seen as iron-clad, so that Voldemort wouldn't push too hard on the lies Draco was spinning.

Which meant Voldemort had to believe Draco continued to loathe Potter and everyone connected to him, including Luna.

Draco practiced channeling his intense dislike for Ron Weasley, and his even sharper hatred for Blaise Zabini, whenever he called to mind Potter's face, the better to achieve the proper emotional timber to fool Voldemort. He tried not to dwell on what it meant that he no longer felt such disdain when he thought of Potter himself. He was pretty sure that, had their roles been reversed, Potter wouldn't have any trouble convincing a Legilimens that he disliked Draco.

_We're not friends, _Draco told himself repeatedly. _And we never will be._

The days seemed endless, yet at last, as the noontime shadows lengthened into dusk on a snowy Christmas Eve, the long-awaited moment finally arrived: Fowler appeared at Draco's door to summon him to dinner with, as the somber house-elf put it, "Mistress Narcissa and her distinguished guests."

Draco dressed carefully in his best, most expensive black suit, newly-polished shoes, and the last Christmas gift his father had given him, the year before when everything had seemed to be going the Malfoys' way. The thick silver watch was goblin-made, decorated with a coiled serpent carved from emeralds on its face – exactly the sort of tasteful, understated Pureblood elegance Lord Voldemort admired about the Malfoys. Combing his sleek blonde hair into place, Draco did his best to look the part of a Pureblood prince.

When he could stall no longer, Draco stared hard into the cold blue eyes gazing back at him from his full-length mirror. He tried to feel what he felt when he saw himself as the silver panther. Powerful. Majestic. Bold.

Everything he had worked for came down to this moment.

_Come back to me_, Luna had said.

And Draco wanted to. More than anything, at that moment, he wanted to live.

The moment Draco entered his family's dining room, he knew he had seriously miscalculated his odds for survival.

A scene straight out of his nightmares awaited him. Aside from the fire blazing in the stone hearth, the room was dark, swathed in menacing shadows. Night had fallen in earnest on the snow-covered world outside, but the moon hadn't yet risen high enough to shine through the bank of windows at the room's far southern end. Thus the faces of the black-cloaked figures seated around the Malfoys' long mahogany dining table were bathed only in an eerie glow of dancing orange flames.

And they were ghastly faces, leering hungrily at Draco, scenting blood. The faces of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

It was a royal gathering, Draco noted wryly, forcing his feet to carry him forward bravely. Here were all of Voldemort's most devoted disciples: Amycus Carrow and his toad-faced sister Alecto; Draco's grim uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange, and his skeleton-faced brother Rastaban; John Paul Yaxley, square and brutish; rat-like Peter Pettigrew; and at the far end of the table, dark and imperious, Severus Snape. Empty spaces here and there memorialized those faithful followers currently imprisoned in Azkaban: Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Dolohov, and of course, Lucius Malfoy.

Terrifying as the Death Eaters were, though, they were not the most frightening presence in the room. That honor didn't even go to the enormous snake slithering along the polished surface of the Malfoys' table.

For Lord Voldemort had finally arrived.

The Dark Lord sat majestically at the head of the table. As always, his skeletally-thin body was cloaked in a flowing black robe; the long, bone-white fingers of his large, spidery hands rested easily on the edge of the table, his wand held lightly between them. His death-mask face gave no hint as to his thoughts, nor did his soulless scarlet eyes as they tracked Draco down the length of the table.

Draco's steps didn't falter. He strode directly toward the Dark Lord, ignoring the Death Eaters gathered in anticipation of his execution, ignoring even the wide, frightened stare of his Aunt Bella, seated to her beloved Dark Lord's left, and the drawn, guarded expression of his own mother, seated to the Dark Lord's immediate right. Those, Draco knew, were not places of honor. Narcissa Malfoy's punishment was to be a first-hand witness to her son's murder.

"My lord."

Draco fell to his knees at the head of the table and bowed his head low to the floor, staring unseeingly at the firelight playing across the fine-grained wood. He heard his Aunt Bella murmur approvingly at his display of submission; for her part, his mother made no sound at all. Draco wasn't entirely certain she was breathing.

"Look at me."

Voldemort's voice was a soft, menacing hiss in the silent room. Obediently, Draco lifted his eyes – only his eyes, his face he kept bowed respectfully toward the ground – and met the Dark Lord's penetrating stare.

Draco didn't flinch as the now-familiar pressure pushed effortlessly into his mind. He showed no resistance: His handsome face remained perfectly blank, his lean body bowed in absolute submission. Around the table, the Death Eaters shifted uncertainly, noting the boy's obvious lack of fear.

Draco shut them out. He shut everything out except for what he wanted Voldemort to see, the memories he had so artfully constructed into a tale that told less than half of the real truth – memories of Luna, of Potter, of the D.A., of Weasley, of Dumbledore. The minutes stretched on, though Draco was unaware of how long he knelt there at the Dark Lord's feet. The more time that passed, the less sure the Death Eaters seemed that tonight was the night when the Malfoy family would forever fall from grace.

At last, the Dark Lord, who had leaned forward slightly to stare into Draco's eyes, settled back into his chair.

Draco blinked and glanced around dazedly, like someone waking up from a long sleep. It wasn't an act. He had no idea how much time had passed – a minute, an hour, a day.

Tense silence blanketed the room. The Death Eaters sat frozen, their eyes fixed on Voldemort, who continued to study Draco intently for a few moments. Draco didn't dare move; inside, he could feel the terror building, though outwardly, he schooled himself to appear completely placid.

Ever-so-slowly, a wicked smile stretched across the Dark Lord's skull-like face.

"I am pleased."

That declaration brought the tiniest sigh of relief from Narcissa Malfoy – the only sign she had given so far that she cared one way or another what happened to the young man crouched beside her chair.

The announcement also sent a ripple of surprise through the rest of the room. Not entirely pleasant surprise, given the few growls of protest Draco noted, most especially from the Carrows.

Draco resisted the temptation to look around the room, to gauge who was and who was not pleased by his reprieve. He continued to kneel, waiting.

"Draco Malfoy is not disloyal. It seems, Yaxley, that you have been misinformed, as Severus insisted." The Dark Lord turned his head slowly to glare at Yaxley, whose brutal visage instantly paled.

"I told you it could not be!" Bellatrix burst out, leaping out of her chair and pointing fiercely at Yaxley. "I told you Draco would never, never betray the Dark Lord!"

"I only reported the information that was brought to me," Yaxley protested. Draco might have found it rather amusing to watch such a big, powerful man squirm if he hadn't been more concerned at the moment about who had "reported" him to Yaxley, and what, exactly, they had said.

_Don't think of Luna. You can't think of Luna. She's fine; she's safe. They all are – Hermione, Potter, Ginny Weasley, Longbottom, Parvati, all of them. Just keep it together._

Snape cleared his throat. Draco glanced down the table to where the stone-faced Head of Slytherin House was looking to Voldemort for permission to speak. The Dark Lord nodded his assent.

"If I may make a suggestion, my lord," Snape offered silkily. "Perhaps we should bring the girl forward – " Draco's heart constricted painfully at that, as his mind concocted a horrifying image of Luna being hauled into the room " – and allow her to explain this…misunderstanding?"

Voldemort turned to Yaxley. "Very well. Bring in your informant, Yaxley."

Yaxley rushed from the room, and Voldemort motioned for Draco to stand. "You may sit, Draco," he said, his voice as close to warm as it could ever be. He waved his ghoulish fingers at the chair beside Narcissa. "Comfort your mother. I hear she's been ill."

Draco didn't meet his mother's eye, because she was staring hard at the opposite wall, determinedly ignoring him. He couldn't deny the pain of that, but he wasn't about to press the issue in front of Voldemort.

A stir in the doorway brought Draco's head around. His mouth dropped open as Pansy Parkinson, shivering despite the room's blazing fire, was hauled into the room by Yaxley.

The big man shoved Pansy forward, gripping the back of her neck so that she was forced to look directly at Voldemort. Even in the room's dim light Draco could see the terrified tears tracking down her face. He was torn between terror for her life and sudden, blinding fury at her treachery.

Pansy Parkinson had betrayed him? Pansy, who had spent the last five and a half years desperately throwing herself after his attentions? Who had been the first girl he'd ever kissed, in a quiet corner of the library at the end of their fourth year, when half the school was championing Potter's victory in the Triwizard Tournament and Draco had wanted nothing more than to be equally beloved? Pansy, who had spent hours stroking his hair, toying with his fingers, snuggling against his side?

"Explain yourself, girl," Yaxley snarled at Pansy. She was trembling so violently she could hardly stand, let alone speak. Draco fought back the urge to push Yaxley away from her as the huge man shook her shoulders roughly, causing her head to whip back and forth painfully on her neck.

"Tell the Dark Lord what you wrote to me in your owl not two weeks ago."

"I-I…" Pansy started, choking on a sob.

Snape rose and strode down the table, his glare fierce enough to cause Yaxley to take a step back despite the fact that Yaxley was a whole head taller than Snape.

"Miss Parkinson." Snape took Pansy gently by the wrist and turned her to face him. "You need to calm down and tell us what you believe Draco has done."

"I – he – I saw him defend Harry Potter, Professor," Pansy whispered, looking nowhere but into her Head of House's eyes. "I saw him fight Ronald Weasley for attacking Potter in Hogsmeade. He-he said they were friends."

"And you believed that Draco had betrayed the Dark Lord?" Snape pressed quietly. "You believed that he was helping Potter and his friends prepare to fight against the Dark Lord's return to power?"

Pansy nodded vigorously. "I didn't know what else to do, Professor." She risked a glance at Draco, who held her gaze evenly. She nearly dissolved into tears again but managed to conclude, "I – everyone said – I wanted to come to you, but Blaise said you couldn't be trusted, so I sent an owl to my cousin's friend in the Ministry, Mr. Yaxley..."

Snape turned to Voldemort. "As I told you, my lord, the girl is mistaken. She is not lying. She was trying to be loyal to you."

"It doesn't matter!" Bellatrix spit from the other side of the table. "She accused Draco of being in league against the Dark Lord. She fouled my family's reputation. My family!" she shouted toward Pansy, who understandably flinched away from Bellatrix's flashing eyes. Snape stood protectively in front of the cowering girl.

"My family worships the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix raved, looking truly mad. "We would die for him."

To Voldemort, Bellatrix pleaded, "Give her to me, lord, please? I will make her regret casting suspicion on my nephew."

Draco felt a pang of sympathy as Pansy collapsed into helpless sobs, cowering behind Snape. Despite the fact that she had just tried to have him killed, he really didn't want to see her fed to the enormous serpent now winding its way back down the tabletop to its master.

Or, perhaps even worse, handed over to his insane aunt.

Voldemort stared hard at Pansy for a long moment, and Draco knew that the Dark Lord was considering the girl's fate. Draco thought about speaking up in his Housemate's defense, but as if she had read his mind, his mother placed a restraining hand gently on his knee beneath the table.

Surprised, Draco glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye. She continued to stare straight ahead, her expression remote. If it weren't for that small contact, he wouldn't have believed she was even paying attention to the scene playing out around them.

Finally, Voldemort shifted his gaze to Draco. "What say you, Draco?" he inquired smoothly. "You're the one she accused. What would you have us do with her?"

For one horrid second, Draco felt caught. If he showed mercy, would the Dark Lord perceive it as weakness? Would he undo the victory he'd just won by fooling one of the world's most skilled Legilimens? But if he called for Pansy's head, would Voldemort assume he had something to hide, that Pansy's accusations were truer than they now seemed?

More to the point, could he live with an innocent classmate's blood on his hands?

_Come back to me, _Luna had asked him to promise. But Draco couldn't believe she would want him to murder someone to save himself.

Slowly, Draco rose. Thinking of Luna had shown him one possible avenue out of this mess – a tricky one, no doubt, but one that just might work. Because to the witches and wizards gathered within this room, Draco Malfoy was still only a boy, with a boy's feelings and a boy's understanding of love and loyalty. Which meant he could be allowed a boy's mistakes.

Draco kept his eyes fixed on Voldemort's, his mind carefully blank of any thoughts he didn't want the Dark Lord to read, just in case. He held out his hand to Pansy, who, at a nudge forward from Snape, shuffled to his side, cringing as if she expected him to strike her.

Instead, Draco took Pansy's hand, pulled her close, and kissed her full on the lips.

Bellatrix gasped with shock and rage as laughter broke out around the table. "Well, well, Bellatrix," Voldemort smirked, as Draco broke the kiss to glare defiantly around the room. "It seems your nephew has quite forgiven the aspersion cast on his character."

"Pansy is loyal to you, my lord," Draco replied, addressing Voldemort directly for only the second time in his entire life. "As am I."

His tone mirrored the worshipful adoration he knew so well from hearing his aunt Bella talk ad nauseam about the Dark Lord. The effect was not lost on Voldemort or any of the Death Eaters in the room: Draco saw the surprise on every face, noted the new respect with which many of them now regarded him.

Nor, it seemed, was Draco's apparent reverence for the Dark Lord lost on Narcissa. She closed her eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible shudder of disgust.

Voldemort waved everyone back into their seats, except for Pansy, who smiled adoringly at Draco as Fowler hurried in to usher her from the room. Draco tried not to think about the new layer of complexity he'd just added to his life by pretending affection for Pansy he simply didn't feel. He would deal with the consequences of that choice when he got back to school.

At the moment, he had to keep his attention on the unfolding ordeal immediately before him – because convincing Voldemort of his loyalty was only the first task Draco had to accomplish this night. Now, he needed to secure Voldemort's permission to continue on with his allegedly false friendship with Potter. Otherwise, Draco would have no excuse to keep helping Potter find a way to defeat their mutual nemesis.

"Well then," Voldemort began, his eyes sweeping along the table, "I realize you all came here tonight expecting to witness how I deal with traitors. But it seems we have a different concern to take up now. And I think it's time I told you all about the task I have asked Draco to perform.

"What we discuss here tonight is not to leave this room," the Dark Lord went on coldly. Heads bobbed obediently all around the table.

The Death Eaters listened with rapt attention as their master relayed that, over the summer, Draco had been ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore – gasps of surprise at that, amidst a few snorts of derision, all of which Draco ignored – and that Draco was now, as the Dark Lord had just seen in his mind, attempting to carry out those orders by pretending to befriend Harry Potter, thereby bringing himself closer to the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"And why," that was Rodolphus Lestrange, his cold gaze appraising Draco from halfway down the table, "would Potter be taken in by such a ruse as this? Unless tales of Draco's enmity with the Potter boy have been exaggerated?"

The Carrows sniggered at that suggestion. Draco saw his aunt Bella narrow her eyes at her husband, although he, for one, wasn't surprised by his uncle's blatant skepticism. Draco barely knew Rodolphus; his aunt and uncle had spent most of the past sixteen years in Azkaban, for refusing to renounce their association with Voldemort even after he disappeared on the night Potter received his famous, lightning-shaped scar. Draco didn't think of his aunt's husband as family. And he knew Rodolphus, unlike his wife, had not forgiven Lucius Malfoy for lying his way out of Azkaban when the Dark Lord fell, or for being shown mercy by Voldemort despite his cowardice.

"Well, Draco?" Voldemort again gestured for Draco to take the floor. Rather than hostile, Voldemort looked simply curious, which Draco took as a good sign.

"Potter is a fool." Draco made his tone as derisive as possible. "He believes all the rubbish Dumbledore feeds us about people being essentially good and love being the most powerful weapon. When I told him I wanted to change sides, I told him I didn't really believe everything my father does about Pureblood superiority. I told him I was frightened of what was happening and needed his help. It was exactly the sort of sentimental nonsense Potter's always been keen to believe."

"It was my understanding," Rodolphus pressed, seemingly oblivious to Bellatrix's warning hiss, "that Harry Potter is a relatively bright boy. I'm merely surprised that he could be so easily fooled."

"If I may." Snape's cool voice from the opposite end of the table attracted everyone's attention, momentarily relieving Draco of the spotlight. "Potter is not what I would call 'bright.' Passably talented, would be a more apt description. And he does, as we all know, tend to take pity on the weak. Consider the rabble he surrounds himself with, like that pathetic Weasley family."

Draco could see Snape was winning this argument; heads were nodding all around the table. It helped that Snape sounded supremely indifferent as to the outcome of the discussion, as if he cared nothing at all for Draco's fate – which, Draco supposed, was probably true.

He wondered whose orders Snape was taking tonight: Voldemort's or Dumbledore's. For the first time, Draco entertained the real possibility that Snape actually had changed sides and was, in his heart of hearts, a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause.

A beat of silence passed in which Voldemort, his scarlet eyes shifting between Draco and Rodolphus, weighed the evidence before him. At length, he mused, "Dumbledore's weakness has always been the stock he puts in _love_." The Dark Lord's mouth twisted over that word, like it was a curse. "From what I've seen, I'm convinced that Harry Potter harbors the same delusions."

Yaxley was quick to try another tactic. "But it's a foolish plan, my lord, I'm sure we can all agree to that. How is being 'friends' with Harry Potter going to get Draco close to Dumbledore? And what is he supposed to do if he does get close to him – challenge him to a duel?"

They argued about that for some time. Bellatrix raved about Draco's skills, though no one paid much attention to that, since Draco could have been a wizard equal to Voldemort and still not have been guaranteed to win against Dumbledore in open battle. Rastaban (apparently more forgiving of the Malfoys than his brother) suggested that Draco could slip poison into the Headmaster's drink or present him with some type of cursed gift, both suggestions dismissed by Yaxley, who quite correctly pointed out that Dumbledore was surrounded by witches and wizards more than talented enough to find an antidote to most any poison and that Draco couldn't hope to slip a cursed object into the school with Dumbledore's heightened security measures in place. Amycus Carrow, who appeared quite put out that he wouldn't be performing the Cruciatus Curse on Lucius Malfoy's son anytime soon, shouted down Snape's more reasonable suggestion that Draco could find a way to lure Dumbledore out of the castle and onto the grounds, where he could be set upon by a group of Death Eaters, by insisting that if the honor was to go to Draco, then he needed to be able to act alone or told to step aside.

Draco listened silently to the debate. Beside him, his mother continued to stare fixedly at the wall; she might have been catatonic. She certainly seemed unconcerned that it was her son's fate being tossed lightly back and forth across the table.

Draco willed himself to be as cold as she was, to remember that, for her sake, it was better that Narcissa not know he wasn't the disappointment she imagined him to be.

Every now and then, Draco snuck a glance at the Dark Lord, who remained above the fray at the head of the table. The great snake Nagini lay across his lap, the creature's strangely intelligent eyes surveying the heated argument almost as if it understood what was being said. The snake made Draco's skin crawl. It was almost as creepy as Voldemort himself.

Finally, when it looked like the discussion could go on forever, Draco pushed back from the table. The chair legs scraping across the wooden floor brought a sudden, startled silence to the room. Even Voldemort regarded him with a measure of surprise.

"So what you're all saying," Draco challenged, pleased that he was able to infuse his voice with cold disdain despite his loudly hammering heart, "is that Albus Dumbledore can't be killed?"

Mouths flopped open all around the table. "I…" Rodolphus started, then stopped, clearly flummoxed.

"Because that's what it comes down to, isn't it?" Draco continued. It was terror fueling the heat in his words, not anger, but no one else in the room seemed to realize that. "Not one of you has stepped forward to do what needs to be done. To finish Dumbledore, once and for all.

"I don't pretend to be a great wizard," he shrugged. "In the end, I may fail. But I at least have the courage to try. Because I believe the only wizard in the world who cannot be defeated is sitting in this room with us, not in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

It was a petulant speech, precisely the sort of zealous declaration that could be expected from a conceited, naïve sixteen-year-old. It was that very arrogance that Draco knew would ultimately win him the point: Although it was foolish in the extreme to think that a mere boy could defeat a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber, none of them could disagree with what he had just said without admitting that they believed Dumbledore was more powerful than Voldemort.

And given that he had just vowed to die trying, if that was what it took to carry out the Dark Lord's orders, there was really nothing left to discuss. Win or lose, live or die, Draco had simply asked that he be allowed to try.

He watched each Death Eater arrive at that same conclusion one by one. Snape smiled thinly, as if he had known all along that Draco would be given his chance; Bellatrix gazed at Draco with such ardent love he thought she might leap across the table and kiss him; the Carrows scowled fiercely yet, for once, offered no more objections.

Voldemort eyed Draco, plainly intrigued. "It seems," the Dark Lord decided at last, his tone slightly mocking as he addressed his longtime companions, "that I have finally found someone whose faith in me is complete. And I think," he added meaningfully, "that we have found a new Death Eater."

They came for Draco that night.

He had suspected that they would, after Voldemort's pronouncement, but part of him had hoped that they wouldn't, that Yaxley or Rodolphus or even Snape would persuade Voldemort that they should wait until Draco actually carried out his mission. Deep down, though, Draco knew once the Dark Lord's mind was made up, once he wanted someone, there was no persuading him otherwise.

Draco had known this might happen. That if he succeeded in convincing Voldemort of his loyalty tonight, he might be forced to openly display that loyalty by taking the Dark Mark. When Voldemort had approached him over the summer, the idea that Draco might betray him hadn't even crossed the Dark Lord's mind. Now that the seed of doubt had been planted there, however, Draco knew Voldemort would take every measure available to secure Draco's loyalty.

So he was lying awake, fully dressed, on top of his emerald-green silk sheets when his bedroom door opened. He wasn't surprised – until he discovered it was his mother, robed in black, beckoning to him from the doorway.

Draco went to her at once. "Is it time?" he asked.

Narcissa regarded him quizzically, her sapphire eyes – a mirror image of his own – searching Draco's. He found her study harder to endure than Voldemort's Legilimency. By sheer force of will he managed not to drop his gaze, abashed.

"Is this really what you want?" she demanded softly. "To be one of them?"

Draco swallowed. He hadn't expected this lie to be so difficult to tell, but then again, he hadn't expected to be telling it to his mother.

"Yes."

Narcissa's face slipped instantly back into the cold, unfeeling mask she had worn in the dining room. "Very well. Follow me."

She led him out into the frigid night air, along the labyrinthine pathways of the winter garden, their feet crunching on the newly-fallen snow. Draco watched his breath mist the air in front of him. He was glad of the cold, though, because it gave him an excuse to be trembling from head to toe by the time they reached the dead center of the garden, where a half-dozen masked Death Eaters stood in a black-robed semi-circle around Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort crooked a long white finger at Draco, who walked obediently forward on quaking knees to stand before the Dark Lord. Without being told, Draco immediately went on one knee in the snow.

"Give me your hand, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes and extended his left arm. He hoped the watching Death Eaters would attribute that to ecstasy at being addressed by the Dark Lord, not abject terror at vowing fealty to the most evil wizard of all time – whom he fully intended to betray, hopefully to the death.

Voldemort's icy hands gripped Draco's wrist. Draco barely managed to suppress a shudder: The Dark Lord's skin was papery, like worn cotton.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, swear your loyalty to me, Lord Voldemort?"

_Come back to me, _Luna whispered in Draco's ear.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and spoke in a strong, clear voice. "I swear."

Voldemort pushed the sleeve of Draco's black suit jacket up to his elbow, baring the pale skin of his left forearm. He turned Draco's hand over in his so that his palm was facing upward.

Draco kept his eyes closed, afraid to look as the tip of something cold and sharp pressed against his skin.

"And do you, Draco Malfoy, swear to serve me, Lord Voldemort, for the rest of your life or mine?"

_Come back to me._

"I swear."

Draco winced as the blade sliced through the tender skin of his forearm. He felt his own warm blood dripping onto the snow; the salty-sweet smell of it turned his stomach.

Voldemort pressed his wand against the freshly-opened wound. Draco squeezed his eyes shut tighter, refusing to cry out from the pain.

"And do you, Draco Malfoy, swear to be the enemy of all my enemies, until none remain who do not serve me, Lord Voldemort?"

_Come back to me._

"I swear."

A burning, wrenching pain shout through Draco's arm, so excruciating he couldn't stop himself from crying aloud. His eyes flew open. He half-expected his arm to be engulfed in flames, or sliced open to the bone, though the pain had receded as quickly as it had come.

He stared numbly at his own flesh. The cut Voldemort had opened moments before was now closed. In its place was a jet-black tattoo of a serpent slithering from the mouth of a skull. As Draco stared, transfixed with horror, the Dark Mark faded to a dull, unnoticeable gray.

Voldemort helped Draco to his feet, his glowing scarlet eyes fixed on Draco's. "Welcome to my service," the Dark Lord murmured. "You shall be as a son to me now."

Cold horror stole over Draco, yet somehow, he managed to arrange his face into a mask of appropriate exultation. "I would be honored, my lord."

Voldemort drew Draco into a quick, cold embrace. As he stepped away, gesturing to the Death Eaters to come forward and welcome their newest member, Voldemort hissed one clear, simple warning in Draco's ear.

"Do not fail me."

A/N: You can now follow me on Tumb-l-r! Thank you so much for reviewing/following/favoriting this story! I love you!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Bigger Problems

"Stop worrying, Hermione. He'll be here."

Luna smiled to herself as she listened to Ginny reassuring Hermione that Draco really was all right. The three girls were gathered on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, surrounded by a throng of Hogwarts students crowding onto the scarlet steam engine for the trip back to Hogwarts and the start of the second term.

Luna's holiday had been pleasant enough, if a bit lonely. She always enjoyed seeing her dad, who, despite keeping busy with _The Quibbler_, had never seemed entirely happy since her mum's death. Whenever she was home, Luna did her best to make up for how much time he spent alone, though this holiday she'd been rather distracted, she had to admit.

At first, she'd been worrying about Draco. That had gotten better once Ginny's owl arrived, the day after Christmas, with the news that "Whiskers" was safe. (They didn't dare discuss Draco's rebellion against You-Know-Who openly in a letter, in case someone at the Ministry loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named intercepted their owls.) Ginny didn't give many details, which, as Luna had discovered a few minutes ago, was because Draco's letter hadn't contained any.

After she'd been able to stop fearing for her boyfriend's life (she loved thinking of Draco as her boyfriend; a wonderful tingly feeling shot through her every time), Luna had found herself daydreaming even more than was usual for her. She'd burned two dozen biscuits because she'd lost track of time, her thoughts back on the Hogwarts Express, reliving their farewell kiss.

Luckily, her dad had been so absorbed in his own concerns – the paper was not only selling more issues than ever, but was also printing decidedly darker stories, details on disappearances and deaths _The Prophet _still wasn't commenting on – he'd barely noticed she was even more absent-minded than usual. Luna had no intention of telling her dad about Draco's mission. He was, after all, a newspaper man; he couldn't be expected not to report such a juicy story. And she certainly wasn't telling him that Draco was her boyfriend, not because her dad would have had anything against Draco – Xenophilius was an incredibly tolerant man, something Luna had inherited from him – but because he was her dad, and she didn't think he really wanted to know about her love life.

"Maybe he couldn't tell us what was really going on," Hermione worried aloud now, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tried to peer over the heads of the milling students. "Maybe he was really asking for help and you didn't realize…"

"Hermione, think about it. He couldn't put the whole story down in an owl," Ginny reasoned. She rolled her eyes at Luna. "Anyway, he's Luna's boyfriend – shouldn't she be the one who's so worried?"

Hermione flushed a deep scarlet. "Of course I don't think of him like that!"

Luna waited for the white-hot flare of jealousy – but it didn't come. She'd taken note of how other girls acted once they got boyfriends: From Ginny to Lavender, they all seemed to become insanely possessive of their beaus. Luna mused cheerfully that it was probably further evidence of her oddity that she didn't feel the same. She had no misgivings about Hermione's motives in worrying about Draco, no distrust in Draco for asking Hermione, not her, to help him with his Occlumency. In fact, she was pleased to see them putting aside their differences.

So she patted Hermione's arm comfortingly and told her, "It's all right, Hermione. I'm glad you care so much about him. Draco really needs friends right now."

"Thank you, Luna." Hermione sniffed, adding, "At least _someone_ isn't completely boy-crazy."

Undeterred, Ginny grinned teasingly. "Honestly, Hermione, if You-Know-Who had done away with Draco Malfoy, don't you think we'd have heard about it by now?"

Luna had to agree. She was convinced that Draco was fine: He was more talented than Hermione gave him credit for. Fingering the seahorse charm on her necklace, Luna reflected proudly that Draco had turned out to be a lot of things no one had ever expected – like brave, and smart, and, when he held his tendency to be arrogant and condescending in check, nice.

"Ready to get onboard? Hi, Hermione. Hi, Luna." That was Harry, walking away from a private conference with Ginny and Ron's dad – who looked deeply vexed, Luna noted.

Hermione turned and caught Harry in a tight hug. "Harry! I missed you."

Luna saw Ginny frown a little as Harry returned Hermione's hug. She hid a smile behind her hand, thinking that Hermione was right. Ginny really was a little boy-crazy.

"Hi, Harry." Luna turned to smile at Harry as he stepped back from Hermione. She saw his eyes flicker to her necklace and widen slightly in surprise. "Do you like it?" She held the charm up to the light, admiring it. "Draco gave it to me for Christmas. I think it's rather beautiful, actually."

Harry muttered something that sounded like, "I prefer the radishes," but just then, Hermione clutched Luna's arm and whispered urgently, "There he is!"

Luna's heart leapt with excitement. Spinning around, she followed Hermione's gaze to where Draco was threading his way through the crowd.

If possible, Luna thought, he had gotten even better-looking over the holiday. Or maybe her memory just didn't do justice to his soft blonde hair, high cheekbones, pointed chin, and long, lean frame.

No, she decided as he drew closer, he was definitely different. Not just different. Changed, somehow. It was his eyes, she realized. They looked…

Well, they looked more like the soulful, mercury-colored eyes of the silver panther he could transform into.

That sapphire blue gaze was trained directly on Luna. Despite the fact that the train would be leaving any minute, Draco didn't hurry; it was as if there was no question of him being left behind, as if it was a given that everyone else would wait on Draco Malfoy. Luna knew it wasn't one of his nicer qualities, but sometimes (like now), she found Draco's arrogance distinctly appealing.

His slow steps were undeniably purposeful, though, and whether it was because of his family's notoriety or his own air of authority, the students remaining on the platform moved quickly out of his way,

Draco didn't stop until he was close enough to reach out and take both of Luna's hands in his. The shoving students, the steaming engine, the shouting parents – all faded into the background as Luna smiled up into Draco's handsome face, reveling in the delicious dizziness of his nearness.

"You came back," she managed lightly.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a heart-stopping grin. "Told you I would."

Behind her, Luna heard Ginny and Hermione sigh dreamily in unison. She giggled; Draco smirked wider. Looking over her shoulder, he drawled, "What, no hug, Granger?"

"Don't be an ass," Ginny returned, her voice warm with welcome. She punched Draco on the arm before seizing Luna's hand and hauling her toward the train. "C'mon, lovebirds, or we'll still be standing here when everybody else is in class tomorrow."

The corridors were packed with students filling one another in on their holidays. Ginny cleared a path for them. Luna followed close behind her, with Hermione and Draco trailing along. Harry – who still seemed oddly troubled to Luna – brought up the rear.

When they passed a compartment of Slytherin students that included Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini, Luna saw their faces go white as they caught a glimpse of Draco. Luna wasn't normally a vengeful person, but she hoped those bullies languished in a cold sweat of fear the entire journey. Draco had never said a word to her about how he'd suffered after his public confrontation with Ron in Hogsmeade; he hadn't needed to. Luna was no fool. She'd seen the bruises he tried to hide, watched him cringe from his Housemates in the hallways, noted the deep circles of exhaustion under his pretty eyes. She could imagine what those vicious thugs had put him through, and, despite her typically blissful serenity, it made Luna's blood boil just thinking about it.

Not that she wanted Draco to actually hurt them. Luna didn't advocate violence. She just thought a couple hours of dreaded anticipation served them all right.

At last, Ginny led them into an unoccupied compartment. Harry and Draco plopped down on opposite sides; Ginny and Hermione took their seats on either side of Harry, Ginny nearest the window, leaving Luna to tuck herself comfortably under Draco's arm.

A brief silence followed. Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look over the top of Harry's head. For his part, Harry was staring somberly out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Draco was toying with a strand of Luna's hair.

Luna didn't think the silence was awkward, but she could see that Ginny and Hermione were uncomfortable. No doubt they wanted to ask Draco what had happened with You-Know-Who but weren't sure where to begin. To put them at ease, she asked brightly, "Did you have a nice holiday with your parents, Hermione?"

"Oh yes," Hermione answered quickly, obviously relieved to have a neutral subject to start off with. "It's been a while since I spent much time with Mum and Dad. It was really great, actually. And you? Did you do anything…interesting?"

Hermione looked rather worried that Luna might have done something "interesting" – something involving a fantastic creature which, according to her books, didn't exist. But Luna answered honestly, "Not really. I helped Dad make some improvements to our old press so he can print more copies. If things keep going like this," she added proudly, "he says we'll be outselling _The Prophet _soon."

Ginny, looking duly impressed by that, volunteered cheerfully, "Our holiday was bloody awful, wasn't it, Harry?" When he just shrugged, she went on, "Mum hates Fleur. I mean, she really hates her. Not that I disagree, but still, she was pretty much a terror the whole time. I guess it was good she was distracted, though," Ginny concluded, "or she might've noticed Ron not speaking to anybody."

Hermione winced reflexively, as she always did these days when Ron's name was mentioned. "So…no progress there, then?" she inquired timidly.

Harry answered, surprising them all as he'd seemed to not be paying any attention. "He apologized to me."

Ginny gaped at him. "He did? Why didn't you say anything?"

Avoiding her accusing glare and Hermione's hopeful expression by staring at his shoes, Harry admitted, "Because I told him I didn't accept."

Nobody quite knew what to say to that, not even Luna. She suspected Harry was holding back much more than he was revealing; however hurt he'd been by Ron's behavior, she couldn't imagine him refusing to forgive his best friend if Ron was truly sorry. And given the fact that Ron hadn't so much as looked cross-ways at Harry (or Draco or Luna or Hermione or Ginny, for that matter) since the showdown in Hogsmeade, Luna thought he really did regret his rash actions.

It was Draco who broke the silence, which really had turned awkward after Harry's pronouncement.

"Well," he said slowly, sliding his arm from around Luna's shoulders and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Does anybody want to hear about my holiday?"

Draco rather enjoyed recounting his harrowing tale for his little audience, especially since that audience included Luna. He was keen to impress this girl, Draco could admit that to himself. He worried that he'd never really measure up to Potter in her eyes. Not that Luna gave him any reason to doubt her affections; he recognized his own insecurities at work. Still, it was nice to have her look at him with the kind of admiration with which he'd so often seen her regard the Chosen One.

Draco edited a bit, of course, glossing over his mother's stinging disapproval, downplaying the kiss with Pansy (Luna's expression never changed, though Draco saw Hermione and Ginny exchange a quick look), and omitting entirely just how terrified he had been, but the confrontation with Voldemort had been sufficiently dramatic to need little embellishing to hold his listeners in thrall. When he described Pansy's betrayal, Ginny gave one of her cat-like hisses; when he relayed his clever ending ultimatum to the Death Eaters – either they believed Dumbledore could be defeated or they didn't – Hermione exclaimed, with barely-disguised surprise, "But that was really clever!"

Draco stopped short of telling them about his initiation as a Death Eater. He had plans for how to reveal that particular piece of information. Timing, Draco believed, was everything.

Since the morning he'd woken up with Dark Mark on his arm, Draco had worried that Potter might see the brand as evidence that, deep down, Draco was really loyal to Voldemort. And even though Potter had listened to Draco's tale with the same rapt attention as the others, his decidedly gloomy demeanor only added to Draco's concerns. While they had a few rare minutes alone together without the rest of the D.A. listening in, Draco decided to lay out two pieces of information that would, hopefully, remind Potter of their common goal: defeating the Dark Lord.

"I picked up a couple of things you might find useful," he said to Potter, as everyone leaned back, relaxing a bit now that Draco's harrowing tale had ended. Potter nodded for him to continue.

"First off, this bloke Yaxley – he's one of Voldemort's long-time followers, works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – claims he's managed to put the head of his department under the Imperius Curse."

"Pius Thicknesse?" Ginny cried. Draco confirmed the name with a nod, puzzled by her concern until she explained, "He's Dad's boss."

Draco felt for her. The Weasleys were hated by the Death Eaters as much as any Muggle-born. They were blood traitors, and blood traitors suffered the same fate (if not a worse one) as Mudbloods. He didn't blame Ginny for being unsettled by how close her father was every day to people who would revel in his death.

"I think," Draco continued, again addressing Potter, "that they plan to put Thicknesse in as Minister of Magic after they…do away with Scrimgeour."

Hermione shuddered at his polite euphemism for "assassinate." "How soon could they do this, do you think?" she asked in a small, frightened voice.

It was Draco and Potter's turn to exchange a meaningful look. That was really the question, wasn't it: How long would the Dark Lord wait to strike? Would he wait until Albus Dumbledore was dead? And since Draco had no intention of carrying out those orders, how long would it be before Voldemort decided he'd gathered enough supporters, regained enough of his former strength, to defy the Ministry even with Dumbledore still alive?

All summer long, Draco had watched the Dark Lord's forces grow. He'd heard whispers around Malfoy Manor about envoys being sent to the giants; he'd heard rumblings as recently as this holiday about the Dementors defecting to Voldemort's side. And _The Prophet_, like Luna's dad's paper, routinely reported murders, disappearances, catastrophes, and attacks on Muggles that were undoubtedly the work of the Death Eaters. War was coming. For the moment, Draco wanted to believe that Voldemort was holding back, putting his faith in his newest recruit to rid him of his most dangerous enemy. But not even Dumbledore could hold back the tide forever.

Running a hand distractedly through his messy dark hair, Potter feel back against his seat. "I think we've got some time," he decided, looking to Draco for confirmation.

After a pause, Draco nodded. They still had some time. And they needed to make the best possible use of it, which brought him to his second point.

"Anyway, I also know Ollivander's still being kept in my parents' cellar. I couldn't actually get down there to see him – Snape's got Pettigrew guarding him, and he's bad as a house-elf about following orders – " Hermione frowned at that " – but I know he's still alive."

Hermione sat up a bit straighter in her seat. Draco knew she'd been waiting for this moment. The big reveal.

Draco grinned slyly in her direction. "And I think I know a way to get him out."

The story of the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things and its twin at Borgin and Burke's took them nearly to Hogsmeade Station. Potter became animated, more like his usual heroic self, as they plotted all that would need to happen for the rescue mission to succeed: repairing the cabinet at Hogwarts; moving the cabinet from Borgin and Burke's to a safe location; finding a way into (and out of) Malfoy Manor. They obviously couldn't have the second cabinet delivered there, and Draco was certain the Floo Network was now being monitored by Voldemort's supporters at the Ministry, which meant the fireplace connecting the Hog's Head Inn to Malfoy Manor was, unfortunately, out.

Actually, Draco was already well on his way to solving the first problem, thanks to the hours he'd spent working on the cabinet secretly during the fall. And that very morning, before leaving to return to school, he'd hit upon what he hoped would be a solution to the third problem: a Portkey.

"We could come out in my room," Draco explained his idea. "That's the least likely place anybody'll be watching. And when we're done, we can use it to travel back to wherever the other Vanishing Cabinet is, and then get back here to the castle."

He made it sound very simple, though obviously it wasn't. However they managed to sneak out of Hogwarts and into Malfoy Manor, they would still have to get into the heavily-guarded cellar and rescue Ollivander, without any idea of what kind of security actually awaited below the Malfoys' dining room. For all Draco knew, Voldemort had a dragon guarding the old wandmaker (though he doubted it). But since that part was more a matter of nerve and skill than strategy, he figured it was best to focus on the problems they could solve beforehand.

"Wait a minute." Hermione was frowning again, looking dubious. "You want to use an unauthorized Portkey? But that's illegal."

Draco stared at her – as did everyone else in the cabin. Hermione's cheeks pinked. "You know, Hermione, if we get caught, I think we'd be lucky to end up in Azkaban," Potter remarked lightly.

"Anyway, Draco's used to breaking the law," Luna put in airily, without the slightest trace of disapproval. "Or did you forget about Whiskers?"

The weighty mood lifted a little as they all smiled at that. "I guess the only thing we've really got to decide is how to get the cabinet out of Borgin and Burke's, and where to put it," Ginny put in, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder.

"Let me think on it." Hermione wore the smug expression Draco associated with her just before exams, when she knew all the answers but wasn't sharing them with anybody. For once, it didn't annoy him, not even when she turned her most teacher-like smile on him and observed, "That's really excellent work, Draco."

The corridors were starting to fill up again as students left their compartments in anticipation of the arrival at Hogsmeade. They took a break from plotting to slip on their robes; as always, Draco felt a little awkward in his Slytherin attire, though he noted that the others hardly seemed to notice anymore.

As the train began to slow, Draco was just about to make his final and most important announcement of the day when Potter beat him to it.

"I hate to add another problem to our list, but there's something I need to tell you before we get to school."

Draco suspected they were finally coming to whatever had been bothering Potter during the whole journey. Judging by the way Hermione, Ginny, and Luna each stopped fussing with their hair and directed their full attention to Potter, he knew he wasn't the only one who'd been wondering what was wrong.

Potter licked his lips. "Just before we got on the train, Mr. Weasley told me there's been a massive breakout from Azkaban."

Draco's heart skidded to a stop.

_My father…_

Avoiding Draco's eyes, Potter continued, "It'll be in _The Prophet _in the morning. It looks like the Dementors have finally chosen a side."

Luna slipped her fingers through Draco's. "Does that mean…Is Draco's father…?"

Potter confirmed it with a nod. "Mr. Weasley had the names of some high-priority prisoners who definitely escaped. Lucius Malfoy, Thomas Knott, Antonin Dolohov, and," Draco knew it was coming, but he still felt a thrill of horror as Potter said the words, "Fenrir Greyback."

Had it not been for her death-grip on his fingers, Draco wouldn't have known for sure that Luna was frightened: Her placid expression never changed. He wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders; instinctively, his gaze went to the dark window overlooking the platform at Hogsmeade Station, half-expecting to see a pair of wolfish eyes staring at him from the darkness.

"They'll go back to Voldemort," Draco mused, more to himself than anyone else. In his mind's eye, he saw his father striding triumphantly through the opulent marble foyer of Malfoy Manor, soon to discover that his freedom had a price.

His son.

Draco knew it was no coincidence that Voldemort had staged this little coup on the very day his new protégé returned to Hogwarts. Voldemort was sending Draco a message: _Don't fail me, and I will protect you and yours._

The flipside of which, of course, was _Fail me, and you will lose everything._

"What will Voldemort think, when Greyback tells him about being attacked by an Animagus?"

"He'll think it was you," Draco replied, an answer he suspected Potter already knew – not just because Bellatrix Lestrange reported that Potter had been in the garden that night, but because Potter's father had also been an Animagus.

"And there's nothing Greyback can tell Voldemort that will lead him to you instead?"

Draco considered Potter's question. Students were filing off the train now; they had only a few minutes before they would have to join that throng, and Draco still had important arrangements to make. But he gave Potter's query the thought it deserved.

"Not to me, no. I was Transfigured before he ever saw me, so he didn't even see what he would've thought was you," Draco finally answered. With a pointed glance at Luna, he added, "But could he lead Voldemort to other people? Yes."

Hermione spoke up, trying – and failing – to sound authoritative. "Draco, this is really getting dangerous. Have you – I mean – would you even consider…?"

"Running away?" Draco finished for her. She blushed. He knew she was recalling their heated exchange at the end of their last Occlumency practice, when she'd accused him of treachery and cowardice for entertaining that very idea. He shook his head, pulling Luna closer against his side, and reminded her, "It's too late for that now, Granger. I have to see this through."

Which meant showing them exactly how deep he was in with Voldemort. Draco knew he couldn't hide the fact that he was a Death Eater from them forever – and if he tried, and Potter found out some other way, it could ruin everything. He thought, or at least he hoped, that given everything he'd just revealed to them and the plans they'd just made to rescue Ollivander, Potter wouldn't begin to doubt his loyalty.

If he was honest with himself, the person whose reaction Draco was really dreading was Luna's. What if she found the Dark Mark so disgusting, so repulsive in everything it stood for, that she wanted nothing else to do with him?

_You know her better than that. Have a little faith – like she always has in you._

Draco steadied himself with a deep breath. "There's one more thing I need to tell you, too," he said, addressing them all. "I've heard tell that your dad left you an Invisibility Cloak, Potter. Do you have it?"

Seeming surprised by how well-informed Draco was, Potter nevertheless nodded. "It's in my trunk. Why?"

"Can all four of you fit under it?"

"Probably not," Hermione answered for him. "We used to be able to, I mean, me and Harry and Ron," she faltered a bit over Weasley's name, "but I doubt we could get four people our age under it."

"Then just you three." Draco pointed to Potter, Hemione, and Luna; Ginny frowned at being excluded but didn't argue. "Put it on and come to the Slytherin dormitory right after supper. I'll let you in."

Even Luna looked uneasy about being asked to enter the lair of their enemies. Draco knew it was a testament to how far he'd come in earning their trust that Potter eventually nodded his agreement, then led them out into the cold night.

Harry collected Hermione and Luna from the foyer in front of the Great Hall immediately after supper, as soon as he could dash up to the Gryffindor dormitory and retrieve his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk. Luna and Hermione loitered in the Great Hall for a while, pretending to arrange a tutoring schedule for Hermione to help Luna study for her O.W.L.s, but when Professor McGonagall started shooting them meaningful looks, they joined the students drifting out into the hall and up the staircases.

They hung back, standing near the bottom of the steps. Luna could see that Hermione was nervous, not just that a teacher might walk by and order them off to their Houses, but about whatever Draco needed them to see in the Slytherin common room.

Luna suspected she already knew. How else would Draco have survived his confrontation with You-Know-W ho except by persuading him, beyond any doubt, of his loyalty? And how would Draco know anything about You-Know-Who's plans for taking over the Ministry if he wasn't a certified member of the inner circle?

Luna didn't judge Draco for his decision. Like Harry, he was willing to do what was necessary to defeat You-Know-Who. It was just that Harry's choices were more straight-forward than Draco's, because everybody already knew which side Harry was on.

She hoped her friends could accept that, too.

Hermione's nerves were not helped by Ron (minus Lavender, whom Luna had seen crying loudly into Parvati Patil's shoulder over dinner) suddenly appearing in the doorway of the Great Hall. Luna saw his eyes meet Hermione's; she felt a pang of sympathy for the longing in Ron's face and the tension coiling instantly in Hermione's body. For one hopeful moment, she thought Ron would simply walk over to them and apologize, putting everything back the way it was before, but just then Harry returned. Ron immediately dropped his gaze and shuffled off, alone, toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Let's go," Harry muttered, ignoring the tears sparkling in Hermione's eyes. Not for the first time that day, Luna wondered what could possibly have been said between Ron and Harry that was so bad Harry wouldn't even consider forgiving his best friend of six years.

They ducked around a corner to slip the cloak over their heads, the situation with Ron, troubling as it was, not the night's top priority. As they made their way down to the Slytherin dungeon, Harry in the lead and Hermione in the rear, Luna admired Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Her dad had often told her the story of the Deathly Hallows – he was absolutely fascinated by the tale, convinced of its truth and the continued existence of the Hallows themselves. In fact, on more than one unfortunate occasion, he'd been hoodwinked by disreputable traders purporting to have the real Cloak of Invisibility. Which, inevitably, turned out to be an expensive blanket treated with a Disillusionment Charm.

Luna suspected that if her dad could see _this _cloak, he'd have an excellent story for _The Quibbler. _Someday, she hoped it would be safe for her to tell him about it.

Luna always enjoyed when fairytales turned out to be true.

Draco was waiting, alone, at the entrance to the Slytherin common room when they arrived. Harry coughed to let him know they were nearby. The three invisible friends shuffled quickly forward to follow Draco inside, unremarked by anyone else.

The Slytherin common room reminded Luna distinctly of the Malfoys' mansion: Its green lamps, long couches, stone floor, and thick silver rugs gave it an austere elegance, yet there was absolutely nothing home-like or inviting about it.

She didn't have time to ponder the décor, however, for the room was also filled with what looked to be nearly all of Slytherin House, waiting in silence as Draco strode triumphantly toward them.

Harry pressed Luna and Hermione against the wall closest to the exit, shielding them with his body. Just in case Draco betrayed them, Luna knew Harry would want to be between them and danger. Peering over his shoulder, she wished she could whisper for him not to worry, but they might have been overheard – the room was so quiet, they could've heard a pin drop.

Luna was a little worried about what Draco had planned for the Housemates who had bullied him so mercilessly. As, apparently, were they: Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be trying to make themselves small beside the fireplace – a difficult feat, given their combined bulk. Most of the older boys, some of whose names Luna recalled vaguely from Quidditch matches and whom she suspected were responsible for much of Draco's misery, likewise tried to fade into the crowd.

One boy, tall, dark-skinned, and handsome, stood bravely in the center of the room. Beneath his dark complexion, Blaise Zabini was rather ashen, but he kept his voice steady as he called out, "Welcome back, Draco."

Draco sneered. Hermione twitched, undoubtedly certain Draco was about to strike out at the other boy. Harry reached back and placed a calming hand on her wrist, as if to say, _Wait._

"I see Pansy's told you how things are, has she?" Draco drawled, looking down his long nose at Zabini.

"Oh no, Draco." Luna watched Pansy Parkinson, smiling a Cheshire-cat grin, separate from the crowd of onlookers and sashay over to Draco's side, where she linked her arm possessively through his. Eyes on Zabini, she continued haughtily, "I thought the pleasure should be all yours."

Unlike Luna and her friends, who didn't want to see even a creep like Zabini be humiliated, Pansy was clearly relishing the prospect of Draco's revenge. As Luna, Harry and Hermione looked on, she stretched up on tip-toe to brush a kiss across Draco's jaw.

Hermione cast a sympathetic look Luna's way. Watching the other girl, a girl Luna knew Draco had kissed on at least one occasion, curl into her boyfriend's side, Luna still felt no wave of burning envy. True, this little scene had implications much more important than her own love life, but standing there observing Draco's reaction to Pansy, Luna suddenly realized why she wasn't jealous: Although he made no move to push her away, Draco also gave no invitation for Pansy to come closer.

_Not like with me._

In Luna's experience, with everyone in his world, even his long-time (so-called) friends and those members of the D.A. with whom he got on well, Draco held himself aloof. His frosty reserve, so much a part of his carefully-cultivated aristocratic air, kept everyone at arm's length. Except for Luna. It was only with her that Luna had ever seen him let his guard down – not just when he kissed her, but whenever they were together, whether it was strolling down to Hogsmeade or practicing Shield charms in the Room of Requirement. Regardless of who was around, Draco was different towards her. Though she had absolutely no idea why – it wasn't like she was a great beauty, Luna reflected, or an especially talented witch, or even as smart as Hermione – Luna Lovegood was the one person who could melt Draco Malfoy's ice-cold exterior and turn his sapphire-blue eyes to flame.

Knowing that, she didn't need to be jealous. Pansy Parkinson didn't stand a chance.

"Pansy didn't have to tell us," Zabini was saying, directing Luna's wandering attention back to the situation at hand. "Grant's uncle told him You-Know-Who was going to question you himself." Zabini jerked his head toward a thick-faced third-year boy, cowering in the corner as if he feared Draco would Curse him right then and there. "So, obviously," Zabini concluded stiffly, "we made a mistake in thinking you were disloyal."

Draco's eyes were as cold and piercing as Luna had ever seen them – the very definition of "if looks could kill."

"Figured that out, did you? And now you'd like me to accept your apology, is that it?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded vigorously, like whipped dogs crawling back to their master's feet. Zabini didn't look nearly so eager to grovel, though he confessed humbly enough, "Yes. We wanted to apologize."

"But why should you?"

Draco's challenge sent a ripple of fear through the room. Here it came, Luna thought, fighting the urge to shut her eyes: Blaise Zabini was about to be Cursed into oblivion, possibly exploded like one of those crates Draco had destroyed during D.A. meetings…

Except Draco's fury all at once didn't look like fury anymore. It looked a lot like the zealotry Luna had once seen on his aunt's mad face when she'd spoken of You-Know-Who.

He strode up and down the room, his words echoing off the stone walls. "Why should you apologize for attacking an enemy of the Dark Lord? If you believed me a blood traitor, you did exactly as you should have done!"

As they realized Draco didn't mean to Curse them, the Slytherin students collectively stepped forward, watching their leader avidly.

He was masterful at this, Luna noted, admiring his skill even as her stomach turned at his words. Handsome and charismatic, Draco held his Housemates in the palm of his hand, exhorting them to never apologize for attacking a Mudblood or a blood traitor or anyone else who opposed the Dark Lord.

"But you're not an enemy," Pansy, clearly disappointed by the lack of bloodshed, pouted by the fireplace. "You're loyal! I heard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named say he trusted you, with my own ears!"

"No, I'm not your enemy."

Draco stopped pacing and stood perfectly still, gazing solemnly into his audience's faces. "What I'm doing with Potter, I do at the Dark Lord's command. Those commands," he spoke over the sudden rush of excited murmurs, "are not for you to know. But I promise you, one day very soon all the Mudbloods and blood traitors in this school are going to feel the Dark Lord's power – including Dumbledore's 'Chosen One.'"

A shiver skated down Luna's spine. She thought she heard the ring of prophecy in Draco's pronouncement – and given her horrified expression, Hermione must have felt the same.

At a word from Zabini, most of the students hurried off to their beds then, except for a small group that remained with Draco in front of the fire: Pansy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore Nott, and a spritely dark-haired girl Luna thought was called Johanna Evanston.

"So what happens now?" Zabini wanted to know, when the room had at last emptied.

"I've got to keep pretending to be friends with Potter," Draco told the little gathering of his closest followers. "That means you all have to keep up the pretense that I'm an outcast – in public, anyway."

They nodded their understanding.

Zabini alone still looked doubtful. "This is really what the Dark Lord wants? For you to grovel to Potter and his bunch of misfits?"

Draco's eyes flashed so fiercely Zabini recoiled, but Draco's voice was even as he offered smoothly, "Would you like proof, Blaise?"

No one moved – not the Slytherins standing in a loose semi-circle around Draco, not the three intruders hidden by the door – as Draco slowly extended his left arm and turned it over so his palm was facing up. He pushed the sleeve of his robes up to his elbow.

To a person, his followers all gasped.

Luna couldn't see what they were seeing from across the room, but she knew what Draco had shown them. Deep down, she'd known what he was hiding the moment she'd seen his haunted eyes on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters that afternoon.

The Dark Mark.

The Slytherins drifted off to bed then, including Draco, who couldn't very well hang behind to chat with them. Harry led Hermione and Luna back into the hallway, where he pulled the Invisibility Cloak off of them and stood staring unseeingly into the shadows.

"Bit lit for a stroll, isn't it?" a portrait of a fat wizard woke up to snap at them. "Off to bed with you, now!"

Hermione grated an irritated glance toward the portrait. "Why did he want us to see that?" She hugged her arms to herself; it was chilly in the dungeons, but she looked more unsettled than cold. "He could've just shown us on the train."

"He was afraid I wouldn't trust him anymore." Harry looked to Luna for confirmation of that, and she nodded in agreement. "Think about it, Hermione. If Malfoy had just told us Voldemort made him a Death Eater, wouldn't it have made you wonder? Wouldn't you have been at least a little bit suspicious of what he was going to come back here and say to the Slytherins?"

Looking rather ashamed to admit it, Hermione conceded, "Yes, I suppose I would've been."

"So now we know." Harry shrugged. "We don't have to guess."

"Harry." Hermione put a hand on his arm, obviously choosing her words carefully. "I know you don't want to take this to Dumbledore, because you don't trust Snape, but what we just saw in there…Harry, this is serious."

She cast a quick glance at Luna, seemingly afraid she was overstepping some kind of boundary, but Luna smiled encouragingly, wanting to hear her friend out.

"I think Draco is in over his head."

Luna spoke up then. "I know it's very dangerous. But Draco knows that, too."

The dreamy quality of her voice didn't diminish the truth of her words, and as always, she saw Harry respond instinctively to that. "When we were in the garden," she continued, "the night he fought Greyback, he made me promise to save myself even if it meant leaving him behind. He doesn't want to run, to protect himself. He wants to fight. Just like we do."

Hermione protested, "But Dumbledore wouldn't want him to – "

"I'm not sure what Dumbledore wants," Harry cut across Hermione. He had a strange air of resignation about him, as if he'd given that very question a lot of thought and was finally arriving at an uncomfortable answer. "But I think he wants us to fight. I think he needs us to.

"It's not safe for anybody anymore, Hermione," Harry finished quietly, absently running the back of his hand across his lightning-shaped scar. "Like it or not, I think we're all in over our heads."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen: Not (Just) Friends

Draco knew his life was changing, but the last thing he expected was to end up playing peacemaker for Ron Weasley.

On the whole, becoming a Death Eater hadn't altered the ebb and flow of Draco's daily life. He was still in school, after all, which meant he still went to classes, still took meals in the Great Hall, still studied for next year's N.E.W.T.s, still attended Apparition lessons. What had changed most was who he did those things with – and the fact that he was, despite the encroaching darkness of Voldemort's return to power, happy.

Slowly, Draco was making friends amongst the D.A. Since his Slytherin Housemates were under orders to be vile to him in the presence of others (something Zabini in particular seemed to have no difficulty pulling off), Draco continued to spend his free periods with the D.A. sixth-years and to eat at the Ravenclaw table, enjoying the chance to watch Luna laugh with her friends. Eventually, more and more D.A. members from other Houses began joining them, like the little Creevey brothers from Gryffindor and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. Eventually, the only table in the Great Hall that continued to hold only its own students was the Slytherin table.

Draco was still reserved around the D.A. members, certainly quieter than when it was just he and Luna alone together, but the more time he spent around them all, the more accepted he felt. It helped that the D.A. continued to meet secretly one evening a week in the Room of Requirement, and their admiration for Draco grew as he continued to teach them how to defend against ever more dangerous magic. Potter had made the D.A.'s preparation to face real Death Eater-level spells a top priority before he would even considered setting a date for Ollivander's rescue.

For the moment, the Vanishing Cabinet remained a secret between Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Potter and Draco. When the time came to put their plans into action, Potter had hinted that he would handpick anyone else who might accompany them on the rescue mission; in the meantime, secrecy was the smartest approach. That was one thing Potter and Draco agreed on, at least.

Over the holidays, Draco had concocted an ingenious solution to what he thought of as the "safety issue" for D.A. meetings. He obviously wasn't going to test little Dennis Creevey's defenses against spells that could literally eviscerate someone or carve flesh from bone – not that Potter would have let him, of course. They needed a way to practice shielding themselves from such horrific spells, the kind Death Eaters (who weren't Draco) would eagerly wing at them regardless of their age, without the potential for serious bodily injury or death. Draco's solution, which turned out to work marvelously well, had been to conjure a wooden "stand-in" dummy (the Room of Requirement readily complied with his need) that he would direct his spells toward as the D.A. members took turns trying to protect it. The stand-in wasn't exactly like protecting one's self, but it was working: Slowly but surely, they were learning how to fight back.

Draco's private Occlumency lessons with Hermione also continued. She was now teaching him Legilimency, which meant they traded off invading each other's minds. Those were surprisingly enjoyable evenings, despite being mentally and physically exhausting. Although it still seemed impossible to Draco at times, he found Hermione was actually a really wonderful person to have for a friend – smart, interesting, clever, and kind.

Hermione was hardly the most important girl in Draco's life, though. Now that he wasn't concerned about being jumped by his Housemates, Draco stopped pretending he wasn't head-over-heels for Luna Lovegood. Part of him still felt guilty about that; he often lay awake at night, worrying that he was putting Luna in unnecessary danger, that if his betrayal became known Voldemort would strike out at her, too, as a way to hurt him. Greyback's escape from Azkaban had thrown into sharp relief just how vulnerable Luna's connection to Draco made her.

He couldn't seem to translate those worries into action, however. He was in too deep to just walk away.

Once a week, the two of them would slip off to the Room of Hidden Things together. They were ostensibly there to work on repairing the damaged Vanishing Cabinet – which they did, in between long, lovely breaks…

It was easier for Draco to be really, truly happy now that he wasn't suffering nightly in the Slytherin common room. But his life wasn't perfect, by any means. Two problems continued to plague him (aside from the obvious, inescapable problem that the school year was rocketing to a close and he still had no intention of carrying out his mission). One was the daily reminder of the double life he was leading. No longer could he stay silent when his Slytherin Housemates poked fun at Potter and Company in the common room; he had to join in, to in fact be harsher than any of them, in order to stave off the skeptical looks Zabini often grated his way, clearly unconvinced of Draco's motives regardless of the Dark Mark on Draco's arm.

He also had to tolerate Pansy's attentions when they were secluded in the Slytherin dormitory, which made him feel like a complete ass where Luna was concerned. He wondered that Pansy continued to show so much enthusiasm for their supposed romance; he knew kissing him had to be like kissing a rock, because he just couldn't force himself to kiss her back – it turned his stomach to try. Either Pansy didn't have enough experience to know the difference or she was interested in something more than his kissing.

Draco tended to suspect the latter.

The other dark spot in Draco's surprisingly sunny world was Ron Weasley. Draco was mystified as to why Potter, who normally seemed so kind and forgiving, refused to accept his former best friend's apology. He and Luna discussed this at length in the Room of Hidden Things (between kisses, usually when Draco declared they had to stop before he completely lost control of himself, they did spend quite a lot of time talking). Neither could come up with a good explanation.

Draco was inclined to believe that Weasley's walk-out had convinced Potter he couldn't be trusted with all the secrets the Chosen One now had to protect. Luna disagreed, claiming there had to be a more personal reason; Weasley would never really betray Potter, she said, and Potter knew it. Since she'd been friends with Potter for some time, Draco didn't argue the point, though he privately wondered if the Boy Who Lived was really as golden as Luna thought he was.

Draco rather hoped Potter wasn't, actually. He was starting to dislike Dumbledore's pet less and less precisely _because_ the Chosen One could be so decidedly un-saint-like.

Draco had no idea how to solve the problem between Potter and Weasley. He wasn't sure why he cared so much about it, either, except he could see how badly it upset Hermione and, honestly, what a toll it was taking on Potter, who frankly didn't seem himself without Weasley hulking in the background. But his other problem Draco could solve, by making it a person goal to avoid hanging out in his House's common room.

He arranged a schedule that involved falling into his bed late enough every night for nearly everyone else to already be asleep. He spent his days in class, of course, and the evenings that weren't devoted to D.A. meetings, Occlumency practice, or the Room of Hidden Things he spent in the library with Potter, Hermione, and Luna.

The four of them became such a fixture there together that people finally stopped remarking on them. They claimed one of the long, low couches in the designated group study area for their own, and because three of them were sixth-years and all were some of the most well-known students in Hogwarts, nobody challenged their territory.

Not that it was much of a social hour, as they each had a tremendous amount of schoolwork to do. Luna, of course, was studying for her O.W.L.s, a trial she approached with such blithe serenity Hermione sometimes looked ready to explode with frustration – she simply could not persuade Luna to be as worried about the exams as she herself had been. Potter, Hermione and Draco were all looking ahead to their N.E.W.T.s, not necessarily because they wanted to (at least Potter and Draco didn't) but because their professors were dead-set on preparing them by assigning coursework that seemed to get more difficult by the day.

Still, the evenings were surprisingly pleasant. The girls tended to sit together on the couch, their books and papers spread out around them, while Potter and Draco sprawled on the floor near their feet, usually studying (they were taking most of the same classes) but sometimes quietly planning future D.A. meetings. Ginny had joined them twice, which was fine by Draco, yet she never seemed entirely comfortable. After the second evening, she stopped coming to the library and, according to Hermione, started spending a lot more time with Dean Thomas.

It was on one such quiet evening in the library that the seeds of Draco's unexpected partnership with Ron Weasley were planted.

They had been studying for nearly two hours. Draco was relieved that the Potions essay he was writing for Professor Slughorn was nearly finished because the words on the parchment were starting to blur together. He was slouching on the floor beside Luna's feet, as usual; she was absorbed in putting together a star chart for Divination, one of the Centaur Firenze's assignments. She was also absently stroking his silky blonde hair with the tips of her fingers, which, honestly, made it a little difficult for Draco to concentrate, but he didn't want her to stop.

Putting the final period at the end of his essay, Draco rubbed his eyes, stretched, and happened to glance up at Hermione. She had the strangest looking on her face, almost like she'd been frozen in place; her eyes were fixed on her Ancient Runes textbook, although she didn't appear to be reading. For a minute, Draco tensed, thinking something was wrong. He automatically looked to Potter and, all at once, had a flash of insight into what was behind at least part of Potter and Weasley's continuing feud.

Potter was sitting on the floor near Hermione, as usual, though this evening his body was angled toward hers so that he had one arm slung onto the couch beside her, his own Potions essay resting on his knees. His hand rested gently on top of Hermione's, his fingertips tracing lazy circles across her up-turned palm that Potter, absorbed in reviewing his essay, didn't seem to be aware of. But Hermione plainly was.

_About damn time, _Draco couldn't help thinking, more than a little smugly. He'd come to think of Hermione the way he imagined any brother would think of a gorgeous, talented sister. He was tired of seeing her mope around over Weasley, who wasn't nearly good enough for her. At least Potter was famous, which put him more in Hermione's league.

"Ahem."

They were all so absorbed – Luna and Potter in their studies, Hermione in whatever emotions Potter's touch was creating in her, Draco in watching the two of them – that none of them had heard anyone approach. Draco immediately reached for his wand, shoved into the pocket of his robe. He checked himself when he saw who was standing awkwardly in front of their little group, however.

Ron Weasley, looking utterly miserable.

That was how Weasley looked these days – ever since he'd attacked Potter from behind in Hogsmeade, when he'd been basically ostracized by everyone he'd once called a friend. Even though Weasley was a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Luna, who enjoyed going down to the pitch to watch practices (something Draco didn't do since resigning his Seeker position the previous term), had reported sadly that the others interacted with their Keeper only as much as was absolutely necessary. Potter especially, she'd said, simply acted like Weasley's broom was empty.

He had even broken up with Lavender Brown just after the Christmas holiday, making his isolation total.

Instead of bulling about as Draco had expected him to do, Weasley had retreated in on himself, walking the halls with his head down and shoulders slumped, eating alone at the far end of the Gryffindor table, avoiding eye contact with anyone, even professors in class. Little though he cared for Weasley, Draco found himself feeling oddly sympathetic to Potter's former best mate. Maybe it was because of what Draco had suffered at the hands of his Housemates before Christmas, or maybe it was the combined positive influence of Luna and Hermione.

Or maybe it was simply that Weasley really looked pathetic standing in front of them now, hands folded awkwardly in front of him, like a school boy expecting a scolding.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione blanch, Potter glare, and Luna smile sunnily. For his part, Draco very carefully moved his hand away from his wand, not wanting to provoke another showdown.

"Hello, Ron," Luna greeted him brightly, as if there were nothing at all in the world unusual about Weasley appearing in the middle of their study group. Draco adored that about her; Luna could take anything in stride. "It's good to see you."

"Hi, Luna," Weasley mumbled, his eyes on Potter.

"What is it?" Potter demanded sharply.

Weasley dropped his gaze to the ground. "I was wondering if I could have a word."

Potter just glowered at him. His fingers still rested on the back of Hermione's hand; Draco watched Weasley take that in, noted the color rising in his cheeks, and sighed inwardly.

_So much for reconciliation…_

"Forget it," Weasley grumbled, never once looking directly at Hermione (though he shot Draco a clear go-to-hell look), and slouched away.

His departure left a short, awkward silence, which Hermione broke timidly with, "Harry, don't you think you could – "

"No," Potter cut across her firmly. "Just leave it alone, Hermione."

Draco stared after Weasley's retreating form, trying not to see the tears sparkling in Hermione's eyes or the sadness haunting Potter's green gaze. He had a sinking feeling that if this situation was going to get resolved, somebody was going to have to do something drastic.

As it turned out, the opportunity for drastic measures presented itself the very next day, in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Snape hadn't said a word about Draco's induction to the Death Eaters. Draco had half-expected his Head of House to summon him to his office for a private talking-to, but Snape treated Draco as he ever had – like the golden prince of a golden family. If anything, Snape was even better to Draco and even fouler than usual Potter, but seeing as how Potter swiftly mastered every spell Snape threw at him, their enmity didn't really matter much.

Things had changed so much in one year. Nowhere was that more evident than in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Draco now sat at a table with Potter, Seamus Finnigan, and Hermione, while Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson sat across the room. Weasley hunched over a table in the back corner, alone.

This particular morning, not long into the start of the second term, Snape swooped in, his black robes billowing behind him, and declared in his coldest, most sneering voice, "In preparation for your N.E.W.T.s at the end of next year, I have decided to give you the opportunity to practice your defensive spells outside of the classroom. Merlin knows some of you," he glared pointedly at Crabbe and Goyle, "need all the help you can get.

"The Headmaster," Snape continued, "has given me permission to start a dueling club."

Draco caught Potter's eye and fought back a grin. He knew they were both remembering Professor Lockhart's ill-fated dueling club in their second year, which had resulted in Potter becoming known as a Parselmouth and for a time being suspected of being the heir of Slytherin. _Amongst the memories I never thought I'd find funny…_

"The club," Snape was saying, glaring at each of them in turn, "will be open only to those who have made at least an E on their O.W.L.s. However, I expect all of sixth- and seventh-year students in my classes to join."

Later in the term, Snape explained, they would have a dueling tournament in the Great Hall. The entire school would be invited to watch, and the duelers would eliminate one another until only two remained.

"What's the prize for the winner, Professor?" Zabini inquired.

"Glory is its own prize, Mr. Zabini," Snape replied silkily. "But, as added incentive, the winner will be excused from my final exam."

That was certainly an incentive, as Snape's exams were as brutal in Defense Against the Dark Arts as they had been in Potions.

"Now, I want you all to choose a partner and begin practicing," Snape instructed.

Potter, Hermione, and Draco all looked at one another. "I can work with Seamus," Potter offered.

But Draco had other ideas. "No, you two go ahead," he insisted, getting to his feet. When Hermione started to protest, glancing uneasily toward the Slytherin table, he assured her, "It's all right, really."

Students were milling about now, selecting partners. Draco walked past all of them, straight to the back of the room, where Weasley stood, alone and miserable.

_This is what comes of trying to be a hero, _a small voice that reminded Draco of his father sneered at him. _You end up taking pity on a pathetic git like Ron Weasley._

Draco consoled himself by thinking of how proud Luna would be of him – this little act of charity was sure to earn him a few extra-delightful kisses. Besides, he needed Potter at top form for facing Voldemort, and if that meant helping him patch things up with Weasley…

Well, Draco decided, it was a small price to pay for his life.

Regarding Draco warily, Weasley grumped, "What do you want?"

Aware that every eye in the classroom, including Snape's, was on them, Draco returned in a low voice, "I'm doing you a favor, Weasley. You want back in with Potter, you can start by proving to him that you can work with me."

Weasley scowled. Instead of arguing, though, he showed some sense for once and took his place a few paces away from Draco. He raised his wand and bowed, as Snape was now instructing them to do. Draco did the same.

"Don't expect me to go easy on you, Malfoy," Weasley muttered, his eyes meeting Draco's while they were in mid-bow.

Draco smirked. "Don't kid yourself, Weasley. I'll be the one going easy on you."

Their duel was vicious. Weasley wasn't without talent, Draco reluctantly acknowledged, dancing to the side to avoid a Body-Bind curse. His trouble was, he was too impulsive: He let his anger rule him, while Draco channeled his, becoming sharper, clearer, more focused.

Still, the match was hardly even. Because he didn't want Potter and Hermione to think he'd partnered with Weasley for the sole purpose of humiliating him (which, truly, was not Draco's motivation), Draco let the duel last longer than Weasley really deserved. But in the end, he didn't hesitate to strike the final blow.

"_Stupefy_!" he cried, and the spell shot right past Weasley's too-late attempt to block it, knocking him to the ground with a thud.

Snape applauded softly behind Draco, who jumped, not realizing the Head of Slytherin House was so nearby. "Nicely done, Draco," Snape observed, placing a cold hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco stiffened at the touch. "Once Weasley picks himself up, why don't you help him with that rather pathetic attempt at a Shield charm."

"Yes, sir," Draco murmured, and Snape moved off to taunt Potter, who was actually doing quite well defending himself against Hermione's skillful attacks.

For the rest of the class period, Draco and Weasley alternated between dueling and tutoring. Draco easily won every duel. Snape left them alone, which probably kept Weasley from punching Draco out, and might have been why he agreed to take some of Draco's advice. Not that it was a good time, by any means: Weasley glowered a lot and made several snide Death Eater comments, which Draco ignored.

But, despite his haughtiness, Weasley did listen, and as a result, he steadily improved in just the one short class meeting. Draco considered pointing that out but decided that might be pushing things too far. He rather preferred to make it through the day without having his nose broken.

When Snape dismissed them, Weasley grabbed his bookbag off the table and shot Draco a resentful glare. "I suppose you want me to say thank you."

Draco shrugged. "I'd prefer you didn't, actually. But if you want to work together tomorrow evening, you know where to find us."

Weasley did a double-take. "Us?" he echoed uncertainly.

"The Room of Requirement," Draco clarified. "That's where the D.A. still meets, you know. Seven-thirty, sharp."

He walked off before Weasley could form a response.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Luna looked up from her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay on producing a Patronus to find Harry standing beside their couch (as Luna thought of it) in the library's study lounge. Her radiant smile reflected how glad she was to see him. She and Harry spent little time together, just the two of them, these days.

Scooting over to make room for him on the couch, Luna reported brightly, "I had an owl from Dad today. He said our international circulation has gone up ten percent since the breakout from Azkaban. I know it's a horrible thing, of course, but it's good people are listening to the truth, I think."

"Yeah, _The Prophet _sure isn't reporting much of that these days." Harry dropped his backpack on the floor as he sat down; it was so loaded down with books it landed with a heavy _thunk_. "Your dad's really brave to say what's actually happening out there, Luna. You should be proud."

"I am."

Harry glanced at the clock hanging above the library's entrance. "Hermione and Malfoy must still be in the dungeons practicing, I take it?" Luna nodded. Harry looked a little disappointed. "I thought they'd be back by now. I was sort of hoping to talk to Malfoy for a minute."

Luna folded her legs beneath her and studied Harry. He placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands, looking decidedly glum. Taking advantage of the moment alone, Luna inquired gently, "Is everything all right, Harry? You seem so sad these days."

"Do I?" Harry toyed with the strap of his bookbag, avoiding her eyes. "Or maybe it's just that you're so happy."

Reflexively, Luna touched the seahorse charm around her neck. She felt a dreamy smile spread across her face. "I am, very happy," she agreed.

"That's good. I'm glad for you."

She could tell Harry meant it, but he still looked sad. Reaching out a hand, Luna caught his wrist and turned him toward her.

"If something's wrong, Harry, you can tell me. I won't tell anyone. Not even Draco."

Harry hesitated. He obviously wanted to talk; he just didn't know where to start. Accustomed by now to prodding Draco to open up more, Luna knew enough to wait patiently while Harry worked out what he wanted to say.

At last, Harry asked, "Did Malfoy tell you about the Dueling Club Snape's put together?"

Luna saw where this was going but chose to let Harry come around to it in his own way. "He's quite excited about it," she answered. "I think it'll be loads of fun. I'll cheer for you both," she added.

"That'd be great, Luna." Harry paused. "So, um, did he also tell you that he picked Ron for a partner today?"

"No," Luna replied honestly. "But Hermione did. Are you angry about it?"

She was careful to keep her tone neutral. If Harry was angry with Draco, she wanted him to know he could talk to her about it. She wouldn't take sides.

Still, she was relieved when Harry shook his head – she didn't fancy being in the middle of an argument between her best friend and her boyfriend, even though she trusted herself to be fair to them both.

"No, I'm not angry. Just…confused." Harry's green eyes searched her face. "Why would he do that? Be nice to Ron, after the way Ron's acted?"

"Why are we all nice to Draco, after the way he's acted?" Luna returned.

Harry frowned. "That's different. Malfoy, he's – well, he's really changed. He's risking his life to help me."

"Ron's risked his life to help you, too, Harry."

Watching a grimace of guilt cross his handsome face, Luna regretted speaking so bluntly. She reached out and folded one of his hands in both of hers, saying kindly, "My mum always said it was better not to let things fester. She said people should sit down and talk things out. Maybe that's what you and Ron need to do."

"We tried that," Harry pointed out glumly. "At Christmas."

Judging by the way he squirmed in his seat, Luna could tell that wasn't a conversation Harry cared to relive. Apparently he needed to get it off his chest, though, for he suddenly burst out, "He just wants everything to go back to what it was before, and he doesn't see why that can't happen. It's like he doesn't get that Voldemort's back, he's really back, and I've got to find a way to stop him. Even if that means – "

Harry stopped short, aware of the other students in the study lounge looking curiously their way. Luna smiled brightly at each person in turn, which had the desired effect of shaming them into going back to their studies.

Lowering his voice, Harry went on, "I tried to tell him that I'm not kicking Malfoy out of the D.A. That Hermione and I have our reasons for trusting him, and he needs to trust me."

Knowing Ron's ego, Luna could imagine how well that had gone over. "He didn't like you bringing up that you're the Chosen One," she guessed, trying not to sound judgmental. Personally, she thought it was a stupid thing to be jealous of: Being "chosen" had cost Harry his parents and his godfather, and was likely to cost him much more before the end, while Ron still had a loving family and a future that wasn't destined to revolve around You-Know-Who.

Cringing from the memory, Harry confessed, "He told me all the talk about 'the Chosen One' had gone to my head. He said I didn't think he was good enough to be my best friend anymore. That I wanted someone rich like Malfoy."

Luna sighed. "I don't think that's true, Harry. And I don't think Ron really believes that, either. He cares about you," she insisted, meaning it. "People expect you to have cool friends now. And I think Ron's always felt like he wasn't good enough, because his family is so poor."

"But that's stupid. I've told him that's stupid!" Harry ran a hand through his dark hair, as was his habit when he was upset. "He won't listen. He just kept on about how we didn't need Malfoy. That the three of us – I mean him and me and Hermione – had always gotten on fine before he came along."

Harry kicked at his bookbag in frustration, muttering bitterly, "Like he wasn't breaking Hermione's heart snogging Lavender Brown before this whole thing with Malfoy even started…"

Harry's voice trailed off. He really didn't need to say anymore, though. Luna knew they'd reached the crux of the matter.

Hermione.

Last term, Luna had watched Harry with both Ginny and Hermione. At first, she'd felt sure he was falling for Ginny. The way he smiled just for her when she walked into a room, it was obvious he liked her. But then Ginny had drawn things out with Dean, and Ron had started going out with Lavender, and Luna had noted how Harry and Hermione naturally gravitated toward one another, until their close, comfortable friendship now bordered on something more. Something that prevented Harry from reassuring Ron that if he came back to their friendship, everything could go on like it had before, like Ron had never walked out on Harry – and Hermione – in the first place.

_Love does complicate things._

Luna knew that was true. For all the delicious dizziness that was tumbling head-over-heels for someone, there was also the stark possibility of a broken heart. When the people involved were as closely entwined as Ron, Harry, and Hermione, somebody was bound to get hurt.

She squeezed Harry's hand tightly in her own, wishing she could take away his troubles, share her happiness with him. "You're a good person, Harry," she reminded him. "And you and Ron have been friends for a long time. I don't think you should give up on him."

Harry stared hard at the floor, unconvinced. "What am I supposed to do? Invite him back to the D.A. like nothing's happened? Half the school saw him attack me."

"I could be wrong, but I think Draco is trying to sort that out for you."

Harry sighed heavily and let his head drop onto the back of the couch. He closed his eyes. "Do you have any idea," he asked her wearily, "how incredibly strange it is for Draco Malfoy to be fighting my battles?"

Luna smiled. She did know, in fact – sometimes, she felt like pinching herself to make sure this wasn't all a dream.

"It's kind of nice, though, isn't it?" she offered hopefully.

Grudgingly, Harry allowed, "I suppose. Malfoy's sort of all right once you get to know him."

Luna waited.

"Okay," Harry said slowly, sounding pained, "he's more than 'all right.'"

Luna waited.

"And I'm glad you convinced me to hear him out." Harry lifted his head off the back of the couch and grinned at her. "There. I said it. Happy now?"

"Very." Luna's contented smile proved that point.

Gradually, Harry's own smile faded, and he went back to looking gloomy. Much as she would have liked to wave her wand and make all of his problems disappear, Luna knew she couldn't, so instead she gave him the best advice she could.

"I think everybody deserves a second chance, Harry. Maybe that's what you should do with Ron, like you did with Draco: Give him a chance to be your friend, and see what happens."

Harry thought that over for a minute. "I suppose you're right."

Picking her books up and spreading her parchment back across her lap, Luna replied airily, "I usually am."

"_Legilimens_!"

_A giant set of wizard's chess, broken pieces scattered about the board, a young girl's voice saying,_ _"You're a great wizard, Harry…"_

_A werewolf snarling as it prepared to lunge, Potter stepping out of the shadows of the Forbidden Forest to meet it, his face a mask of grim determination…_

_Potter, blinking up into sunlight streaming through the hospital wing's windows, glasses askew, hair a mess, but smiling to show he was okay…_

_Potter, streaking away from an angry Norwegian Ridgeback on his Firebolt to the cheers of half the student body…_

_Potter, standing up on the mud-soaked Quidditch pitch, holding aloft the Golden Snitch…_

"Aaaarrrrgggh!" Draco staggered back as Hermione pushed his consciousness from her mind. His knees connected with the low table in the center of the dungeon so hard he nearly toppled over sideways.

She had really put up a fight that time. Draco's ears were ringing with the force of her mental defense.

_Must've gotten close to something she doesn't want me to see…_

Personally, Draco was relieved. Potter was all right, but Draco wasn't keen to relive all of the Chosen One's moments of shining glory as seen by Hermione Granger, who seemed to have developed a bit of a crush.

And who had also been in a foul mood all evening. Now, cheeks flushed, she pushed moodily out of the straight-backed chair and barked, "Your turn."

No way was Draco pitting his mental defenses against a pissed-off Hermione, not when he was so exhausted. "Let's call it a night," he suggested. To her scowl, he added, "We have two rolls of parchment due for Slughorn tomorrow, remember?"

Hermione groaned. "Oh, bloody hell, the essay on remedies for poisons – I'd forgotten! Ugh!" She actually tugged at a handful of her long brown hair.

Draco arched a bemused eyebrow. "Hermione Granger, complaining about homework? The universe may implode."

Hermione tossed him a hateful glare as she shoved books into her bag. "Very funny. I do have a life outside of school, you might've noticed," she huffed.

While her ire was rather amusing, Draco knew baiting Hermione (fun though it could be) wasn't going to help him patch things up between Potter and Weasley. For that, he needed her onboard with his plan, since she, he suspected, was the second half of the problem – Draco himself, of course, being the first.

"Hold up, Granger." Draco picked up her bookbag and slung it over his own shoulder. He rested his hip against the table and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to quail under her fiery glare. "I know you're upset with me for helping out Weasley today."

"I'm not upset about that," Hermione protested, looking shocked that he would think so. "I-I think it was quite decent of you, actually."

Draco smirked. "I'm surprisingly decent. For a Death Eater."

A ghost of a smile played on Hermione's lips. "If you're trying to make me feel better…"

"Slow down, Granger. I'm not that decent." Pleased to get a real smile out of that, Draco continued, "What I'm trying to do is figure out how to get Potter and Weasley in the same room together without anybody ending up in detention." Or Azkaban, he added silently, given Weasley's unpredictable temper. "You think that's possible?"

Hermione bit her lip, looking doubtful. "I've tried talking to Harry about it, but you've seen how he is. He's just so angry."

No denying that. "Potter always struck me as the turn-the-other-cheek type," Draco admitted, not bothering to hide his scorn for Potter's soft touch when it came to dealing with his enemies.

"It's called forgiveness – you might try it sometime," Hermione shot back. When Draco just rolled his eyes, she went on, "I don't know what's going on with Harry right now. I mean, he and Ron have fought before, but this is…I don't know what this is, exactly, but it's different."

"Because of me."

"Possibly," Hermione admitted.

"And because of you."

She turned a very pretty shade of pink. Despite the fact that he had eyes only for Luna, Draco could understand why Potter and Weasley were fighting over Hermione.

"There's nothing going on between me and Harry," Hermione informed him stiffly, adopting a mind-your-own-business glare. "We're just friends."

"Come off it, Granger. I was just in your head. A few more seconds, and I'd have been wanting to kiss Potter."

Hermione tried and failed to glare him out of his smirk. Draco wasn't afraid of her Cursing him anymore; she was too protective of him, like an older sister (or, somedays, a lioness watching over her cub). He waited her out, and finally, she declared in exasperation, "Even if I did have some…feelings…for Harry, it's none of Ron's concern! It's not like he ever had a claim on me," she added, clearly still resentful that Weasley had chosen Lavender Brown over her.

"True," Draco agreed, unable to hide his amusement at their little love triangle.

Eyes flashing, Hermione demanded nastily, "And why do _you_ care so much whether we're all friends anyway?"

Mildly, Draco reminded her, "You're the one who called me decent."

To his surprise, Hermione burst out laughing, her anger deflating like a punctured balloon. He couldn't suppress an answering grin. "You're never going to let me live that down, will you?" she asked fondly, when the laughter subsided.

Draco shrugged, his smirk suggesting she was right – that was one compliment he wouldn't forget easily.

Hermione drew in a steadying breath. "I don't know what to do. Like I said, Harry won't listen to me, and Ron…" She sighed. "I wouldn't know where to begin, honestly. He won't even look at me since Christmas."

"So, to get back to my original question, if I put them in a room together, do you think they'll talk or try to kill one another?"

Hermione actually had to think that one over. "I think Ron really is sorry. And I know Harry's miserable. I guess," she concluded, with a lot less than absolute certainty, "if you could find a way to get them together, it might be all right."

"Good," Draco said. He braced himself for another furious outburst. "Because I sort of invited Weasley to tomorrow night's D.A. meeting."

Mouth dropping open, Hermione stammered, "You-you did what? Why?"

He reasoned, "People are only still mad at Weasley because Potter is, right? It's not like he's done anything to anybody since that day in Hogsmeade."

"Yes, but – "

"And Weasley's too proud to show how sorry he really is until he stops feeling like an outcast, like he's second-best to me where Potter's concerned," Draco hurried to finish. "Am I right?"

Slowly, Hermione nodded, warming to his logic. Scenting victory, Draco declared, "So Potter wants the fight laid to rest, and Weasley wants everybody to know he's Potter's real best mate, and those two things I can take care of at the D.A. meeting. The rest of it," he added meaningfully, "I guess depends on which one of them you fancy most."

Hermione snatched her backpack away from him. "Don't start playing matchmaker, Malfoy," she cautioned, without any real malice.

Draco took the heavy bag out of her hands again and slung it back over his shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it," he promised innocently, as they headed toward the library, where with any luck, Luna would still be waiting to tell him good night.

And Potter would be with her.

Snape rapped softly on the Headmaster's office door. "Come in," a voice called from the other side.

The door creaked open. "You asked for me, Headmaster?"

"Ah, Severus, come in, come in."

Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, motioned for Snape to enter. With a flick of his wand, he produced two tumblers of brandy, directing one to Snape and taking one for himself.

"I hear the Dueling Club is coming together nicely," Dumbledore remarked, a playful sparkle in his eyes.

"Quite."

When it was obvious Snape didn't intend to say more, Dumbledore went on, "I apologize for calling you out so late, but I wanted to ask your opinion as to how much danger Miss Lovegood is in, now that Fenrir Greyback has escaped from Azkaban."

Snape took a sip of brandy. "The werewolf has returned to the Dark Lord's service. He's obviously very angry about his capture, and he does know Lovegood's daughter was involved. However…" Snape turned the question over in his mind, finally declaring, "I don't believe she's in any more danger than she usually is, given the company she keeps."

Setting his empty glass aside, Dumbledore clarified, "You're referring to her courtship with Draco Malfoy?"

Snape confirmed that with a nod.

"Is Voldemort aware of their affections?"

"They're sixteen years old, Headmaster," Snape pointed out, his lower lip curling in disgust. "Anyone with eyes is aware of their affection."

Dumbledore smiled wistfully. "Young love," he mused, looking almost young himself for a moment. Abruptly, his mood shifted, becoming business-like once more. "I think I should meet with Draco soon, to discuss his future."

Snape recoiled. "We still have some time, surely, before that will be necessary? The boy's father just escaped from prison, and he himself has just been made a Death Eater." Seeing Dumbledore's hesitation, in his silkiest, most persuasive voice, Snape pressed, "Perhaps we should wait a bit longer, give him more time to adjust…"

Dumbledore gazed knowingly at his long-time friend. "A bit longer to be happy, you mean?" When Snape looked away, Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I wish that I could, Severus. But my time, it seems, is running out."

In the glow of winter moonlight filtering through the windows, Dumbledore did indeed look old – old and sick, his skin so pale it was nearly translucent, his once-strikingly-blue eyes so colorless they might have been two shards of cut glass.

Snape's eyes drifted automatically to the withered fingers resting lightly on the Headmaster's desk. He nodded curtly, conceding. "I can arrange a meeting."

"Thank you. Oh, and Severus," Dumbledore called after him, "keep an eye on Miss Lovegood, will you?" To Snape's questioning glance, the Headmaster explained, "Every life is precious, of course, but I have a feeling she may have an important part to play in all of this before the end."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen: Mended

"Well, if it isn't Loony Lovegood."

Luna was on her way to the Room of Requirement for the D.A. meeting when the group of Slytherin sixth-years – Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and a slight, pixie-like girl Luna thought was named Johanna Evanston – appeared at the top of the staircase leading to the seventh-floor corridor.

Luna was running late. She'd stayed behind in Herbology to help Professor Sprout prune **Abyssinian shrivelfig**s. Since Hannah Abbot's father had refused to let her come back to school, Professor Sprout was without one of her best helpers. Neville had asked Luna if she would mind helping out in the greenhouses now and then when he couldn't be around. Because Neville was a good friend, Luna had agreed, although she didn't have much free time to speak of between Draco, the D.A., and her upcoming O.W.L.s.

So her mind was on other things, like how Draco was going to handle Ron's re-introduction to the D.A. that evening, as she skipped up the staircase. She didn't see the Slytherins until she was nearly on top of their leader, Blaise Zabini.

It was Zabini who had addressed her. Luna was so unaccustomed to hearing her spiteful nickname that, for a moment, she just blinked in surprise.

Zabini, sneering down at her, seemed to mistake her silence for fear. "What's the matter, Loony?" he challenged, descending two steps so that he was standing on the stair above her. "Cat got your tongue?"

"More like Wrackspurts have got her brain," Pansy Parkinson put in, laughing. Nott and Evanston snickered.

But Luna wasn't afraid. She'd faced a lot more frightening people than Blaise Zabini and his little group of thugs. Even though she was on her own this time, unlike in the Department of Mysteries or at Malfoy Manor, the only thing she felt was mild disgust that Draco had ever been associated with these bigots.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice perfectly even, as Zabini continued to block her path. "I have somewhere to be."

"Off to cuddle with your boyfriend?"

Zabini moved down one more step so that he was standing on the same stair as Luna. He backed her into the stone railing, his dark eyes glowing with a kind of malice that Luna, with a sudden thrill of fear, realized she'd never seen before.

He leaned down and breathed into her ear, "Maybe I'd like you to cuddle with me."

Luna's stomach clenched. She didn't wait for Zabini to grab her, which she somehow knew he was about to do – and, since he was bigger and stronger than she was, she knew she'd be powerless to fight back once he had hold of her.

In a fluid motion, so swiftly Zabini didn't have time to react, Luna slipped her wand out of the pocket of her robes and cried, "_Mobilicorpus_!"

Zabini was instantly lifted into the air. With a flick of her wand, Luna sent him hurtling into his startled group of friends; he took them out like bowling pins, bodies sprawling in every direction as the Slytherins shrieked and cursed.

Luna didn't wait to see the effect of her spell: She turned and pounded back down the staircase, her heart in her throat, the first tremors of terror threatening to overtake as she thought about what Zabini had intended to do –

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

With a cry, Luna crashed face-first at the bottom of the staircase, slamming her cheek painfully into the stone floor as Pansy Parkinson's Body-Bind curse hit her from behind. She could feel blood seeping from a cut over her temple where she'd banged her head against the sharp edge of the bottom step, but she couldn't move her hands to examine the extent of the damage. She couldn't move at all.

_I can't even scream. Oh my god, I can't even scream._

Her head turned to the side, Luna stared helplessly at a small section of floor. Her arms were flattened at her sides, one leg half-curled beneath her. She wondered how long it would take Draco or Harry or Hermione or Ginny to realize she should have been at the meeting already.

What if Neville told them not to worry, that he'd asked her to help Professor Sprout? What if no one came looking for her before…?

_You will not panic, _Luna ordered herself, listening to the six sets of feet stomping down the staircase toward her. _You will be brave. Whatever happens, YOU WILL BE BRAVE._

A pair of expensive shoes and the hem of a Slytherin robe appeared in Luna's limited field of vision. Zabini crouched down so he was looking her straight in the eye; had she not been frozen, Luna would have shivered in revulsion. She'd never noticed before just how reptilian he was. She knew some girls, even Padma Patil, found Zabini's dark skin and chocolate eyes attractive, but to Luna, he'd always just looked mean.

The full force of that cruelty was turned on Luna now. Zabini tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear; she wanted to jerk away from his touch but, of course, she couldn't.

"You know," he whispered, too low for the others to hear, "I don't think Malfoy likes used goods. You think your boyfriend will want you after – "

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Luna couldn't see what was happening. She just knew that suddenly, Zabini leapt to his feet. She heard someone – she couldn't quite place the voice, her thoughts were too scattered – shouting Curses at the Slytherins. Whoever it was, they were holding their own, despite having six people (well, five, she guessed, since Zabini had been Disarmed) winging Curses toward them at once.

"_Finite_!"

The Body-Bind curse instantly lifted as the counter-jinx touched Luna. Life surged into her limbs. Propelled by equal parts terror and fury, Luna scrambled to her feet, relieved that she hadn't lost her grip on her wand as she fell.

She took aim at the first Slytherin in her line of vision, which happened to be Crabbe. His piggy little eyes widened with fear. He didn't even move to Shield himself when Luna shouted, "_Densaugeo_!"

Crabbe's hands flew to his mouth as his front teeth began to grow rapidly, pushing out of from his lips like walrus tusks.

He turned and fled down the stairs.

"_Stupefy_!"

Luna danced to one side just in time to avoid Pansy Parkinson's Stunning spell. "_Furnunculus_!" she shot back. Pansy narrowly missed being covered in nasty boils from head to toe by diving behind a suit of armor.

Glancing wildly around for more targets, Luna spotted her rescuer: Ron Weasley.

Ron was now dueling Goyle and Nott at the same time. Johanna Evanston seemed to have disappeared; Zabini was racing back up the stairs from the fifth floor, apparently having retrieved his wand from where it had fallen over the edge of the staircase when Ron's Disarming spell first hit him.

"_Impedimenta_!" Luna cried, pointing her wand at Zabini. He tripped as if she'd just stuck her leg out in front of him, falling hard to the floor.

"_Stupefy_!"

That spell whizzed around Luna from behind, Stunning Goyle before he could fire off another Curse at Ron. Whirling, Luna was delighted to find Harry charging down the staircase, followed closely by Hermione, Ginny, and Neville.

Nott hurled another Curse at Ron, which Ron deflected easily. Before Nott could try again, Ginny's Disarming spell sent his wand sailing across the hallway.

A sudden silence fell as the Slytherins realized they were now outnumbered.

Harry slid to a stop in front of Luna. Ginny, Hermione, and Neville arranged themselves protectively around her, their wands aimed at the Slytherins: Zabini and Goyle, slowly getting to their feet, wands at their sides; Pansy, crawling out from behind the suit of armor, her wandless hands held up by her face in a gesture of surrender; and Nott, shifting nervously from foot to foot, as if trying to decide if he could manage a mad dash for his wand.

Behind them, at the top of the staircase, appeared the rest of the D.A. Nott lifted his hands in surrender as well.

"Drop it," Hermione ordered Zabini, whose wand had twitched slightly.

Glaring at her, Zabini obeyed. Goyle, realizing he was the only Slytherin still armed, hastily tossed his wand after Zabini's and put his hands up, too.

Draco pushed through the crowd to Luna's side. She could see that he was absolutely furious; his jaw was clenched tight, his sapphire eyes ice-cold – both, she had come to know, hallmarks that he was ready for a fight.

For his sake, because she didn't want him doing anything that might get him expelled, Luna tried to be brave, smiling as serenely as she could manage with her knees quaking violently and her heart hammering a million miles a minute. She vowed to herself that she would never, ever tell Draco what Zabini had threatened – she was sure Draco would lose all control of his temper if he knew what might have happened, had Ron not come along.

Draco brushed Luna's blonde curls back from her face, frowning as he took in the deep gash across the side of her head. He moved his wand in a gentle arcing motion over the cut.

Luna felt a strange tugging sensation, as if the ragged edges of the cut were being pulled together. Immediately, the blood stopped flowing freely onto her robes, and the pain she'd barely been aware of during the battle eased.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked, placing his hands gently on her shoulders and staring hard into her face. She could see something there, behind his pretty eyes – something dangerous.

Something almost…murderous.

She managed to nod.

"I'll be right back," Draco promised, and stepped up to Harry's side.

Hermione slid a comforting arm around Luna's waist, as Ginny, standing on Luna's other side, reached out and gripped her hand. Luna understood why they were both so tense: Standing side-by-side, Draco and Harry made a formidable pair, anger crackling off of both of them.

_Where's a teacher when you really need one?_ Luna couldn't help wondering.

The Slytherins had lost their bravado the instant the numbers turned against them. Even Zabini didn't look so confident now, Luna noted darkly, though he still sneered hatefully at Harry as he challenged, "Well, let's have it, Potter. You going to run to your pal the Headmaster and turn us all in?"

"I don't think Dumbledore needs to be involved."

There was something decidedly menacing about Harry's words. Luna saw Pansy Parkinson glance nervously at Draco, but he had eyes only for Zabini.

"So what're you going to do, 'Chosen One'?" Zabini mocked, trying and failing to sound unafraid. "Turn your little friends here loose on us?"

In response, Harry leveled his wand directly at Zabini's heart. The other boy flinched. "I don't need anybody else to fight my battles, Zabini.

"What I'm going to do," Harry continued, "is give you one warning." Luna didn't think she'd ever heard Harry sound more authoritative; at that moment, she knew no one listening doubted that he was, in fact, the Chosen One. "If anyone from your House ever touches any of my friends again, I'm coming after you. And by the time I get done, you'll be begging me to go for Dumbledore. Is that clear?"

Luna could see Zabini's pride urging him to return a snide comment, but fear ultimately got the better of him. He nodded once, curtly, abruptly turning on his heel and starting to march away with as much dignity as he could muster.

Before he took two steps, however, Draco's deadly-quiet voice – which was even more frightening than Harry's, if that was possible – stopped him.

"Not so fast, Zabini."

Zabini pivoted. Luna saw real hatred there when he looked at Draco. The dislike was even more intense than what he'd held for Harry, which was nothing short of pure loathing.

Ginny gripped Luna's fingers tighter.

"Sorry about your girlfriend," Zabini started, sounding anything but.

That was as far as he got before Draco's fist connected solidly with his gut. Winded, Zabini dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands. Before he could recover, Draco seized the back of the other boy's neck and slammed Zabini's face forward, at the same time bringing his knee up, hard.

Zabini's nose shattered against Draco's knee with a sickening crunch.

"That's enough, Malfoy," Harry said quietly.

Blood flowing freely over his lips and onto the floor, Zabini groaned and slumped sideways when Draco released him. Zabini was notoriously vain; Luna was sure that was why Draco had chosen to break his nose – to mar his dark good looks.

Zabini seemed to know that, too, judging by the way he glared up at Draco. The look on his face told Luna they hadn't heard the last of Blaise Zabini – not by a long shot.

She had a sinking feeling that Draco had just made another life-long enemy.

Not that Draco appeared particularly concerned by that fact. "Touch her again," he warned, in that same bone-chilling voice, "and next time I'll snap your neck."

Cuffing blood off his chin, Zabini staggered to his feet and signaled for his Housemates to follow him, glaring at Draco over his shoulder as he stalked away. Luna saw Pansy hesitate as she passed Draco, almost as if she was watching for some kind of signal, but he just ignored her.

To everyone's surprise, Draco marched straight over to Ron, who was standing awkwardly off to one side. He glowered at Draco, tensing like he expected to be attacked.

"Thank you."

Nobody looked more astonished by those two simple words being uttered by Draco Malfoy to Ron Weasley than Ron himself. Ron's cheeks turned the same color as his flame-red hair; he opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing to stammer out, "I – well – I – sure."

Hermione let go of Luna so she could nudge Harry meaningfully in the back. When Harry didn't move, Hermione narrowed her eyes and mouthed, _Talk to him._

Harry ignored her.

Luna took charge then. Stepping away from Ginny, she walked on still-trembling legs to Ron, who was blushing furiously and staring hard at the tops of his shoes. Stretching up on tip-toe, she kissed him on the cheek.

"You were really brilliant, Ron," she said, clearly enough for everyone to hear. "Thank you."

If possible, Ron's blush deepened. He was a painful-looking shade of puce at this point. "You're welcome," he mumbled to the floor.

"Yes, Ron, thanks." That was Hermione, breaking away from Harry's side. Ron did a double-take. A smile spread across his face as Hermione stepped up between Luna and Draco. "Luna's really lucky you were here."

"I was – that is – Malfoy asked me to come to the meeting tonight," Ron put in defensively, as if Hermione had just demanded to know what he was doing in the seventh-floor corridor. He glanced uneasily at Draco, as if he thought Draco might deny extending the invitation.

Instead, Draco turned so he was standing next to Ron, facing the rest of the D.A. members, who had by now all gathered behind Harry. He folded his arms obstinately across his chest, his expression daring anyone to question his judgment in inviting Ron back into the fold.

Seamus Finnigan accepted the challenge. "What's this about? He tried to attack you, in Hogsmeade," Seamus protested, pushing forward to stand next to Harry (who remained silent in spite of the furious glare Hermione had trained on him). "I saw it. And we all saw him attack Harry."

A murmur of agreement ran through the D.A. members.

Draco didn't back down. Luna had a feeling he hadn't expected this to be easy.

"I think you all know Weasley has every right to hate me," he pointed out, his head held high even as he owned up to how foul he'd been to Ron, Hermione, and Harry in the past. "If he decided to Curse me right now, I'd have to say I've earned it."

Luna felt a surge of pride for the person Draco was becoming, the sort of person who could shamelessly stand up for someone he'd once regarded as his one of his worst enemies. The emotion was so powerful she had to fight back the urge to throw her arms around his neck. A radiant smile spread across her face; she wished everyone could be as happy as she was at that moment, even with her head throbbing from smacking it against the floor.

"And what about attacking Harry?" Ernie demanded, though he sounded marginally less hostile than Seamus. "What was that all about?"

"That was about Ron being Ron," Ginny spoke up, for the first time coming to her brother's defense. Because everyone in the D.A. knew that Ginny's loyalty to Harry superseded her loyalty to even her own brother, they all listened to her, Luna could see that. "I've known him all my life. Trust me, he does stupid things sometimes."

Ron scuffed the toe of his shoe along the floor, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Luna felt sorry for him. She wished she could step between him and this public trial, the way he'd stepped between her and Zabini, but, distasteful as it was, she knew this was how it had to be if they were all going to be friends again.

"Look, Weasley and I are never going to be best mates," Draco declared. "But that's not the point of what we're doing here, is it? Dumbledore's Army isn't a social club. It's about fighting back against the Death Eaters. It's about learning how to protect ourselves from the war that's really brewing out there."

Heads began to nod all around.

"I know a little something about how Voldemort works," Draco continued. His gaze drifted across the group, lingering on each face before finally coming to rest on Harry's. "If there's anything that would make him happy, it would be knowing that we're fighting amongst ourselves instead of coming together to fight him."

Harry colored a little at that, yet he didn't try to deny the truth of what Draco was saying.

Still staring hard at Harry, Draco kept on, "That's how the Death Eaters win. They use fear and anger and prejudice to turn people who ought to be standing united into enemies."

"So you're saying if we don't take Ron back, You-Know-Who will win?" Michael Corner demanded dubiously. Luna saw his girlfriend, Cho Chang, shoot him a sharply disapproving look that caused him to subside at once.

"I'm saying," Draco concluded simply, "that the surest way to hand Voldemort the victory is to turn on one another."

Nobody knew quite what to say to that, but Luna could see that Draco's words had made an indelible impression. People were whispering to one another and nodding – and more importantly, looking kindly on Ron for the first time in weeks.

In the end, though, the decision was Harry's. After a long moment, their leader at last stepped forward.

Before Harry could say anything, Ron blurted out, "I'm really sorry, all right? I don't know what came over me. I never meant to….I never should've attacked you like that."

Hermione bit her lip. Luna thought if she stared any harder at Harry, her eyes might melt in their sockets.

Luna didn't have to be a Legilimens to read the silent plea Hermione was winging Harry's way: _Please forgive him; please let's all be friends. We have bigger enemies than each other._

And, because he was a truly remarkable person, Harry relented and did the right thing, as Luna suspected Draco had known he would all along.

"You can be a real stubborn git, you know that?" Harry said to Ron, a half-smile turning up the corner of his lips.

Ron grinned sheepishly in return. "Yeah. I know."

To a general sigh of relief, Harry stuck out his hand, and Ron eagerly clasped it. "Welcome back," Harry said.

Over the top of Ron's head, Luna saw Draco smirk triumphantly.

"What is this place?"

Weasley's voice drifted toward where Draco waited beside the tall black cabinet in a far corner of the Room of Hidden Things. He heard Luna, who had waited in the hallway to lead their little group in, observe dreamily, "It's very interesting, isn't it?"

"Um, that's one word for it, yeah," Weasley replied doubtfully, as he, Potter, Hermione, Ginny and Luna rounded an old steamer trunk (which was emitting a suspiciously foul odor) and spotted Draco at the end of the row.

It was the night after the D.A. meeting that had seen Weasley and Potter's reconciliation. They had finally gotten around to actually meeting, after Hermione and Ginny had taken Luna into the girls' bathroom to wash the matted blood out of her hair. Unfortunately, Draco had still been so furious with Zabini that he'd nearly incinerated Zacharias Smith while the Hufflepuff Chaser tried to protect the stand-in dummy from Draco's Incendiary curse. After that, Potter had hastily suggested they practice producing Patronuses for a while, and the meeting had broken up earlier than usual.

It had come out all right in the end, for which Draco was thankful, but what no one in the D.A. realized was that Draco was responsible for Luna being attacked.

That had not been the plan, not by a long shot. If it hadn't been for needing to maintain the pretense with his Housemates that he didn't actually care about Luna, Draco would have beaten Zabini into a bloody pulp right there in the hallway, whatever Potter's squeamishness about violence. He wasn't sure when he had ever been more angry than when he'd seen his Luna, lovely Luna, standing there pale and trembling at the foot of the stairs, looking impossibly beautiful and fragile.

Draco's plan had been for Zabini and a few other Slytherins of Zabini's choosing (Draco didn't care to micromanage) to wait in the seventh-floor corridor for Weasley, whom Draco had purposefully given the wrong time for the D.A. meeting – about fifteen minutes late, to be exact. Zabini's instructions had been to attack Weasley. Not to hurt him, at least not much, but to cause enough of a disturbance to attract the attention of those in the Room of Requirement.

Draco had imagined Potter rushing into the hallway to find his former best mate being set upon by a handful of Slytherins and then, in the heat of the moment, forgetting all about his anger as he rushed to Weasley's aid.

_When we can't be friends, _Draco had reasoned, based on his own experience, _at least we can share a common enemy._

Draco had never counted on Luna being late to a D.A. meeting. She practically lived for the things. And he'd been so absorbed in hoping his plan would work out, without Potter or Weasley or Luna or anybody else knowing that the attack had been prearranged by Draco himself, that he hadn't noticed her absence straightaway. Once he had, he'd wanted to go looking for her – until Longbottom had assured him she was helping Professor Sprout. Draco had stopped worrying then, thinking the greenhouses much too far away for Luna to get caught up in the fray.

Twenty-four hours later, he was still kicking himself for that serious miscalculation.

Despite her narrow escape, Luna had insisted she really was all right, and as the D.A. meeting had broken up, she had pulled Draco aside and told him to go ahead and talk to Potter about the Vanishing Cabinet as they had planned. That was a conversation Draco had originally imagined involving only Potter, Ginny, Hermione, Luna and himself, but Weasley, obviously reveling in being a member of the club again, had stuck around while Draco informed them that the time had come to see whether he and Luna had managed to successfully repair the cabinet.

Although it had been Draco's scheming that had led to Weasley's return, Draco still wished they didn't have to include Weasley in every single thing. It wasn't an issue of trust; if anything, now that Weasley had gotten a taste of what it was like to be an outsider, Draco was convinced he would never risk betraying Potter again. It was just that Weasley being around made everything harder, because try as he might, Draco couldn't seem to like Ginny's older brother.

The feeling, to say the least, was mutual, a fact borne out by Weasley's stormy frown when he saw Draco waiting for them.

Draco smirked. He knew he shouldn't antagonize Weasley; he just couldn't seem to help himself. There was something about Ginny's older brother that brought out the absolute worst in Draco.

_Yes, Weasley, I'm still here, _he longed to drawl, in his most condescending voice. _Get used to it – I'm not going anywhere just because you're back._

Draco tried to put those thoughts out of his mind as Luna skipped to his side. He needed to focus, to take his own words to heart and remember that they had bigger problems right now than whether they all liked one another.

"Behold, the Vanishing Cabinet," Luna declared cheerfully, holding her arms out in front of the cabinet like a shopgirl hocking wares.

"You've really got it working." Hermione sounded equal parts pleased and surprised.

Draco shrugged. "That's what we're here to find out, remember?"

"We've sent apples through five times in a row," Luna informed them all brightly. "We put them in, they disappear, we bring them back. Of course, we're not sure where they go," she admitted, sounding blithely unconcerned by that small wrinkle, "but they come back."

A look of dawning horror crossed Hermione's face as she realized what Draco meant to do. "You can't – you can't be going to test it on yourself?"

"We've done what we can with inanimate objects," Draco pointed out. "Time for a live subject."

He wasn't nearly as blasé about the experiment as he was making out, of course, but Draco was painfully aware of the days slipping by. Soon the spring holidays would be upon them, and then exams, and then…

_Time to explain to the Dark Lord why Dumbledore's still alive and well._

Hermione wasn't buying his brave face, Draco could see that. "There's got to be another way," she insisted. "What about an animal?"

"You volunteering Crookshanks?" Draco shot back, referring to Hermione's ginger cat. She flushed guiltily. "Or maybe we should get a house-elf up here, order them to do it?"

Weasley bristled. "Shut it, Malfoy, Hermione wouldn't – "

"He knows she wouldn't," Ginny broke in impatiently, waving off her brother's irritation. "What I want to know is, what are Borgin and Burke going to say when you come popping out into their store?"

Draco really liked Ginny Weasley. No sappy concern for his well-being there: She was all business.

"I don't intend on getting out," Draco assured her. "It's late enough the shop's closed. I'll just take a peek 'round the door, make sure of where I am, and come back."

No one seemed to know quite what to say for a moment. Hermione still looked mortified, one hand resting lightly on her throat, but she didn't offer up any further arguments. When Draco moved to open the cabinet, however, she made a strangled little noise of protest that checked him.

Wishing she wouldn't be so protective just now – it was hard enough climbing into a Vanishing Cabinet that might or might not return him alive without Hermione being so visibly terrified – Draco said patiently, "Granger, I have to do this."

"No, you don't." That was Luna, a hint of steel showing behind her typically airy voice.

Everyone turned hopefully toward her, including Draco, who was more than open to other suggestions at this point.

She continued, "I could do it."

"Absolutely not," Draco snapped, at the same time Potter barked, "Not bloody likely."

"She has a point," Hermione put in to the brief silence that followed. "Not that Luna should go," she added hastily, as Draco and Potter both rounded on her. "Just that it shouldn't have to be Draco who tests it."

"You're not doing it!" Weasley cried, moving to one side as if to block Hermione rushing into the cabinet. She leveled an icy glare on him. Weasley stood his ground, apparently more concerned for her life than whatever risk he was at from her anger.

Draco thought it would be quite enjoyable to see Hermione blast Weasley out of the way, but Potter, predictably, intervened.

"I'll do it."

Potter's voice betrayed no fear, Draco had to give him that, even as he positioned himself firmly in front of the cabinet's door and shook his head.

"I don't think so."

Potter regarded him steadily. "I can move you, Malfoy."

"I suppose you could," Draco agreed, without moving. "But you know, Potter – and I honestly can't believe I'm saying this – I think the world needs you a bit more than it needs me right now."

Ginny snickered. Weasley chuckled. Even Hermione cracked a smile.

Although it obviously went against his hero instincts, Potter, unable to argue with Draco's logic, stepped back. "You're sure it'll work?"

"One way to find out." Draco tugged on the handle, only to be stopped by Luna stepping forward.

He thought for a moment she was going to insist on accompanying him – at which point he was going to ask Ginny to hold her down until he returned – but instead she slipped one hand behind his neck, drew his mouth down to hers, and kissed him so tenderly Draco quite forgot anyone else was in the room.

Weasley cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Draco stepped back from Luna. He winked at her to show he wasn't afraid.

Which he was. Terrified, actually.

"Wait." Weasley stepped determinedly forward, his voice ringing with forced bravado. "I'll go, too."

Draco almost suggested that Weasley test the cabinet out alone if he was so eager to be the hero, yet he stopped himself because Luna caught his eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. Draco gritted his teeth.

_C'mon, _the voice of his better angel chided him. _He saved Luna, remember? It won't kill you to share a little bit of the glory, for the greater good._

Being one of the good guys was a real pain in the ass.

Sighing, Draco motioned for Weasley to follow him into the cabinet. They clambered inside together. It was surprisingly roomy, as if the cabinet sensed how many occupants it needed to accommodate and expanded accordingly.

Pulling the door shut on their friends' tense faces, Draco couldn't resist observing dryly, "You know, Weasley, we could get stuck in here forever, just you and me."

Weasley paled. "Now you tell me," he muttered.

As soon as the door fell shut all the way, they were plunged into total darkness. Draco tuned out Weasley's breathing – he sounded like he was hyperventilating, which was not an unreasonable reaction, under the circumstances – and held his wand loosely at his side, picturing where he wanted the cabinet to take them.

_Borgin and Burke's. Borgin and Burke's. Borgin and Burke's._

Draco had read all about Vanishing Cabinets after Graham Montague told him about being stuck inside the damaged Hogwarts cabinet after a run-in with the Weasley twins the previous year. Montague had finally managed to Apparate out, and his story was what had led Draco to the Vanishing Cabinet at Hogwarts in the first place. From what he'd read, Vanishing Cabinets worked something like the Room of Requirement: A person didn't need an incantation to make it work, just an intense focus on where he wanted to go.

Assuming the cabinet was working properly, that was.

Draco knew something was happening because his head began to feel strangely fuzzy and tingly, almost like he was fainting, which was how he'd felt each time he'd managed to transport one of the apples somewhere. And then, all at once, the feeling lifted, and he knew they'd arrived.

"Are we there?" Weasley whispered out of the darkness, as if he, too, had noticed a change inside the cabinet.

"Wherever 'there' is," Draco returned. Weasley gulped.

Slowly and silently, Draco eased the cabinet door open. He immediately sagged with relief. They'd done it. He was looking out of the door of the Vanishing Cabinet inside a nighttime Borgin and Burke's.

Moments later, he and Weasley stepped triumphantly out into the Room of Hidden Things. Draco was instantly set upon by three girls – Luna kissing his cheek, Ginny punching his arm, Hermione hugging his neck – while Weasley shuffled awkwardly off to one side.

Draco saw Potter sling an arm around his best friend's shoulders. "Thanks, Ron," Potter said quietly.

Although he hadn't actually done anything besides come along for the ride, Weasley perked up a bit at that. "Don't mention it."

"So, what now?" Ginny asked, looking from Draco to Potter. "How do we get the other cabinet out of Borgin and Burke's, and where are we taking it?"

It was Hermione who answered, quite decisively, for she'd obviously given this a lot of thought, as promised. "We're taking it to Grimmauld Place," she declared.

That seemed to make sense to everyone else, though Draco was bewildered. "Which is…?" he prompted.

"Oh, sorry. It's headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and it-it used to be Sirius Black's house, but he left it to Harry." Hermione looked a little flustered, hurriedly moving on from the reference to Potter's fallen godfather. "Anyway, the Order doesn't meet there much anymore, and anyway there's plenty of empty space to hide the cabinet."

Everyone agreed it was a good idea, including Potter. "But how are we getting it there?" Weasley repeated his sister's question.

Hermione grinned devilishly, a distinctly un-Hermione-like grin that told Draco he was probably going to love her plan.

"For that," she answered, "we're going to need Fred and George."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen: A New Enemy

Though he never would have admitted as much to Weasley, Draco had always considered Fred and George to be the epitome of cool. Given what a temperamental sod Weasley was, and what a pompous nerd Percy Weasley (who had been Head Boy at Hogwarts in Draco's third year) had always been, Draco had sometimes mused that, were it not for their fiery-red hair and freckles, the twins might have been adopted. After getting to know Ginny, who was nearly as cool as her twin brothers, Draco had changed his mind: He thought Weasley and Percy were the anomalies in the family, since the oldest Weasley brothers, Bill and Charlie, had cool jobs like treasure-hunting and dragon-wrangling.

Not to mention that Bill was engaged to Fleur Delacour, a treasure in her own right.

Draco tried not to let on just how nervous he was as trudged through the early February snow into Hogsmeade with Potter, Weasley, Hermione, Ginny and Luna the next Saturday. They were headed for the Hog's Head Inn, where Hermione had arranged for Fred and George to meet them. Recalling what a penchant the twins had for making fools out of people they didn't like – and Draco was sure he fit into that category – Draco was dreading the meeting, even though he sincerely hoped the twins would be able to help them.

Draco had even suggested to Potter that he stay behind at the castle. Ginny, however, had insisted that he come along.

"If Harry trusts you, that'll be good enough for Fred and George," she had declared firmly, causing Weasley to color at the not-so-subtle reminder of his own bad behavior where Draco was concerned.

Draco really liked Ginny.

Now, he trailed along at the back of the group, his gloved hand wrapped around Luna's. Ginny and Weasley were in the lead, obviously eager to see their brothers. Potter and Hermione were walking slowly a few paces on, their heads bent together, deep in conversation. As Draco watched, Potter placed his hand lightly on the small of Hermione's back to guide her around a huge snowdrift blocking half the road.

Once they passed the drift, Potter didn't move his hand.

Draco smiled to himself. He had a private bet running with Luna about how long it would take Potter to work up the nerve to ask Hermione out properly. This morning, it looked like he was winning: Luna swore Potter was too shy to make any moves at least before the spring holiday, but Draco thought she underestimated the fact that Potter was, after all, a guy.

Luna seemed her normal, serene self this morning. Ever since her run-in with Zabini, Draco had been worrying over her, though he made a real effort not to smother her. Now and again, he thought he caught a hint of sadness in her dreamy smile, and each time, he had to fight back the urge to go break Zabini's nose again. He still found it difficult to look at him without wanting to crush his skull – or, worse yet, cast the Cruciatus curse on him, the way Voldemort would have done to a soldier who broke rank.

Of course, Draco had played off to his Housemates like he actually approved of what they'd done, that his anger had been nothing more than an act. He'd even gone so far as to do an exaggerated impression of Potter's "Dumbledore will be the last of your worries" speech that had left everyone gasping with laughter.

Everyone except for Zabini, that was, whom Draco could tell had not been fooled. In fact, though he hadn't brought it up to anyone else, not even Luna, Draco was more than a little worried that Zabini might derail his whole plan, might find some way to persuade Voldemort that Draco wasn't really on his side.

Draco knew Zabini was jealous of him. For a few months in the fall, when Draco had fallen from grace with his Housemates, Zabini had gotten a taste of what it was like to be the most revered student in Slytherin House – a position Draco now occupied once more. When Draco walked into a room, his Housemates shut up to see if he had something to say. And Draco could tell Zabini wanted that power back.

He hadn't been able to get a straight answer out of any of them, not even Pansy, about what had happened between Zabini and Luna before Weasley showed up. Luna had been noticeably evasive when he'd pressed her about it as they walked back to her dormitory after the D.A. meeting that night; she'd kissed him sweetly and promised to tell him the whole tale the next day, when she wasn't so tired, but when he'd brought it up again over lunch, she'd simply said that Zabini had threatened her, she'd fought back, and Pansy had immobilized her with a Body-Bind curse before she could run away.

That, Draco knew, was leaving quite a lot unsaid. He'd seen how pale Luna was that night, how distracted she'd been during the entire D.A. meeting. Luna was no coward. Zabini would've needed to do something really vile for her to be so unsettled.

Something that would probably make Draco want to peel the skin off his bones, one little strip at a time…

Now, as if sensing Draco's dark thoughts, Luna turned one of her heartbreakingly sweet smiles onto him. He felt his rage flutter away like so many butterfly wings.

He had absolutely no self-control when it came to Luna, Draco noted. He was wrapped entirely around her little finger – and he suspected that she knew it.

"I forgot to tell you," she said brightly. "I had an owl from Dad yesterday."

"Everything okay?" Draco asked, trying not to sound concerned. He knew Luna was proud of her father for being the purveyor of truth and all that rubbish, but Draco rather wished old Xenophilius would be a little less willing to go after Voldemort in his tabloid. Sooner or later, _The Quibbler _was going to pop up on the Dark Lord's radar, and when it did, the Death Eaters would have yet another reason to come after Luna.

"Oh, everything's fine, of course," Luna assured him, as if there was no reason in the world to think her father might be in danger. "He just got pictures from a friend of ours who visited Nepal over Christmas. In one of them, you can see a Yeti!"

Draco was glad Hermione was too absorbed in Potter to have heard that. He could imagine her turning to Luna with an incredulous stare and choking out a frustrated explanation of why Yetis simply didn't exist.

For his part, Draco wished Luna's dad would write about nonsense like Yetis and Nargles. It was certainly safer than reporting things like Death Eaters taking out bridges in the Muggle world. Draco had started taking a subscription to _The Quibbler, _which had overjoyed Luna, and last month when he'd read about Pius Thicknesse being put under the Imperius Curse, Draco had nearly choked on his Pumpkin Juice. Whoever Xenophilius's sources were, Draco had to admit, they were surprisingly well-placed; nobody outside of the Death Eaters was supposed to know about Thicknesse.

A few more stories like that, and Draco feared _The Prophet _would be reporting Xenophilius' death.

"It's very exciting. Yetis are really rare, and very shy, of course," Luna went on, still talking about the Yeti sighting, "Dad's going to print the picture on the front page next month."

Relieved that her father wasn't planning to headline another of the Dark Lord's best-kept secrets, Draco remarked, "Sounds like it'll be a good issue," earning him an impulsive kiss on the lips that left him as dazed as if he'd just been attacked by a Wrackspurt.

He was so dazzled, in fact, that he didn't think much about it when he spotted Zabini and Pansy huddled together beside The Three Broomsticks, whispering.

The Hog's Head Inn was nearly empty when they hurried in out of the cold, stamping slush off their boots and shaking snow out of their hair. Fred and George Weasley were almost the only patrons; decked out in what looked like real dragonskin suits, they were certainly the best-dressed people in the seedy tavern.

The twins had secured a large table in front of the roaring fireplace. Draco couldn't help remembering the last time he'd been in the Hog's Head, the night he and Luna had used that very fireplace to travel to Malfoy Manor and confront Greyback. If he could face down a werewolf, Draco reminded himself, hanging back behind the others, surely he could find the guts to face Fred and George Weasley's heckling.

"Don't be nervous," Luna whispered, stretching up on tip-toe and kissing Draco lightly on the jaw. "Harry won't let them be mean to you."

Draco tried to look pleased at the idea of Potter taking up for him, but something in Luna's less-than-brilliant smile told him he hadn't quite managed it.

"Harry!" Fred and George chimed in unison, rising to shake Potter's hand across the table. Ginny ran forward and hugged each of her brothers in turn; Weasley followed suit, pulling each twin into a quick, one-armed embrace. Hermione waved to the twins on her way to the bar to order them all hot drinks, as the Hogwarts group was nearly frozen from their long walk.

"What's this?" Fred (at least Draco thought it was Fred) asked, surveying Draco with frank disdain. "Harry, why didn't you tell us you'd gotten a pet ferret?"

"Don't be silly, George," the real Fred (apparently Draco wasn't so good at telling them apart) argued. "That's not a ferret. It's a rat."

"It's okay, guys," Harry waved them off. "Malfoy's with us."

Fred and George exchanged a dubious look but, as Ginny had predicted, they accepted Harry's decision with nothing other than a snide comment from Fred about Harry being hard-up for followers.

Draco grated a bemused glance at Weasley, wondering why he couldn't have inherited his older brothers' easy-going natures.

"So Hermione's owl was really cryptic," George observed, when they'd all taken seats and Hermione had passed around steaming Butterbeers.

"But it sounds like you need somebody to make trouble for You-Know-Who," Fred put in.

"And naturally you thought of us," George concluded proudly.

Draco was fascinated just watching the Weasley twins. He hardly listened as Hermione quietly explained what they needed – the Vanishing Cabinet at Borgin and Burke's moved to Grimmauld Place – because he was too busy studying Fred and George. He'd read somewhere about Muggle twins claiming to share some kind of mystical connection; he'd never set much store by it, since in Draco's opinion, most Muggles wouldn't know magic if it walked up and introduced itself. But Fred and George made him question that position. It wasn't just that they finished each other's sentences, though that was creepy enough in its own right. It was that their every move, their every thought, seemed to be in perfect synch, like an elaborately-choreographed, effortlessly-executed dance.

Potter, who was noticeably silent during Hermione's explanation, still said nothing as she finished relating that they wanted to use the cabinets as a passage in and out of Hogwarts. At that point, Ginny piped up hopefully, "Do you think you can steal the one that's in Borgin and Burke's?"

"Little sister, this is us you're talking to," George reminded her smugly. He turned to his brother. "What are you thinking, Fred?"

"I'm thinking Peruvian Darkness Powder, George," Fred responded, licking his lips as if he could taste the trouble they were getting into – and savored every bite of it.

George nodded solemnly. "Yes. I see a very large shipment of Peruvian Darkness Powder…"

"…meant for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…"

"…that gets delivered to the wrong store..."

"…and somehow gets set off."

"And when the smoke clears…"

"…Borgin and Burke's are missing a Vanishing Cabinet," Fred finished. The twins turned to Potter and asked together, "How's that work for you, Harry?"

Potter frowned. Draco suppressed a sigh; he knew that look. Potter's hero conscience was torturing him for bringing the twins into this, Draco could see it written all over the Chosen One's face.

"Guys, this is really dangerous," Potter warned them gravely. Hermione bit her lip. Draco had a feeling this was what the two of them had been discussing so intently on the way down from the castle.

_Bloody hell, Potter, now is not the time to throw yourself on the sword, _Draco wanted to snap at him. _This is my life on the line here, too, if we don't bring Voldemort down, and soon._

Luna, as if sensing Draco's frustration, placed a calming hand over his.

"I mean it," Potter went on, when the twins continued to smirk, obviously undaunted. "If Voldemort finds out what we're planning to do with this cabinet – if he finds out he can use it to get inside Hogwarts – he'll stop at nothing to learn where the second cabinet is."

Draco saw Ginny and Weasley each blanch. Apparently, neither of them had considered how perilous this bit of thieving would really be for their brothers.

For his part, Draco gritted his teeth. He didn't want Fred and George to be harmed any more than the rest of them did; he wasn't heartless, no matter what some people thought of him. But did any of them really expect to bring down the most powerful dark wizard in the history of their world without taking some risks? Why was Potter always trying to protect everybody instead of realizing that the only way to protect _anybody _was for them all to fight back, where and how they could?

At least the twins didn't seem frightened by the prospect of facing Voldemort. In fact, they seemed to find the whole thing rather amusing.

Leaning over to his brother, Fred said in a stage-whisper, "Aw, George, I think Harry's worried about us."

"That's really sweet, Harry." George batted his eyes at Potter.

"I'm touched," Fred declared. "Look, I'm tearing up a bit."

Ginny giggled. The twins grinned devilishly. Draco decided he'd been wrong about them before: They weren't just the epitome of cool; they were a whole new level of cool that had yet to be defined.

Potter was trying and failing to look severe. "Guys, this is serious."

"Sure it is," George agreed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But seeing as how you can't nick the cabinet yourself…"

"…maybe you'd better let the big boys help," Fred finished. When Potter continued to look doubtful, he added helpfully, "Anyway, if You-Know-Who catches us, we'll just tell him it was all Malfoy's idea."

"I'm okay with that," George readily assented.

Hermione started to protest, but Draco kicked her under the table. No way was he giving the Weasley twins _that _kind of ammunition – he could imagine the ribbing he'd take if Hermione stood up for him to Fred and George.

Besides, it was sort of flattering to be insulted by those two. Almost like a badge of honor, being cool enough to warrant their attention.

The talk turned then to the twins' joke shop, which was doing incredibly well. It seemed Luna's father insisted on giving them half-price for their ads in _The Quibbler, _which Fred thanked her for.

Luna smiled airily. "Oh, any friend of Harry's is a friend of Dad's," she told them. "Anyway, Dad always says people don't smile enough."

Draco knew every single person at that table could have made a remark about people laughing plenty at _The Quibbler. _He saw it as a testament to how much they all liked Luna that nobody did.

Fred and George had more details on Bill and Fleur's upcoming summer wedding – mostly about the crazed wedding planner their mother had become since Christmas – which gave Ginny an opportunity to vent about how adamantly opposed she was to the marriage. She was alone in that, Draco noted; all three of her brothers seemed plenty keen to keep Fleur in the family.

At last, Fred and George had to get back to London, and the rest of them had to get back to the castle. Despite the fact that he hadn't said a word the entire day, Draco realized he'd enjoyed himself. Fred and George's laidback happiness was contagious.

Maybe that was why their joke shop did so well.

They said their goodbyes just outside the Inn. "We'll send an owl when it's done, Harry," Fred promised, clapping Potter on the shoulder. "Maybe a month, as we'll have to reach out to some of our more, er, unsavory connections."

"Just be careful," Potter cautioned. "If anything happens to you, your mum'll kill me."

George shrugged that off. "Nah. She likes you better than us."

"Well, better than Ron, anyway," Fred noted, with a wink in Ginny's direction. Weasley flushed angrily.

Draco decided he really liked the Weasley twins.

They didn't dawdle on their way back to the school, as the morning's fierce wind had only gotten fiercer in the late afternoon twilight. Judging from the heavy gray clouds rolling in, they could expect another snowstorm that night. Draco couldn't help wondering if the savage weather had anything to do with what Voldemort was up to at the moment.

The idea made him colder even than the piercing wind. He glanced back once toward the village, winging hopeful thoughts after the Weasley twins.

_Be careful, _he thought, _but be quick._

Luna linked her arm through Draco's, burying her face in his shoulder to protect her cheeks from the icy gusts. They were all walking with their heads down, half-blinded by the swirling snow, which was why they didn't see Katie Bell and one of her friends in front of them until they heard them arguing.

"Katie, don't touch it!"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks as Katie let out a horrible, ear-splitting scream. As the rest of them looked on, helpless, she dropped a long, rectangular package into the snow. For a moment, she stood rigid, her pretty face a frozen mask of horror, her scream dying in her throat.

Then she was yanked into the air as if hoisted by an invisible hook. Hermione gasped; Ginny shrieked; Luna clutched Draco's arm. Slowly, looking like a grotesque marionette with its arms and legs flung wide, Katie rotated once in mid-air before collapsing to the ground.

Draco's mouth went painfully dry. He was hardly aware of rushing forward, Potter right beside him, and dropping to his knees in the snow next to the stricken girl.

Katie's face was bloodless, her eyes closed. "Is she?" Draco heard Ginny whisper, unable to finish the thought.

But Katie's chest was rising and falling – she was alive, at least. "Help!" Hermione yelled, which was the smartest thing any of them could have done in that circumstance. "We need help!"

Draco heard something large pushing through the snow, and a moment later, Hagrid appeared. He took one look at Katie and shoved Potter and Draco out of the way, scooping the lifeless girl up in his arms like a baby.

"Don't touch that!" the half-giant snapped at Ron, who had started to pick up the package Katie had dropped. Draco caught a glint of silver as Ron jumped back like he'd been stung.

"Pick it up by the wrappings," Hagrid continued, "but be sure yeh don't touch it."

Gingerly, Ron folded what Draco realized was a necklace back into the brown paper and hurried after Hagrid in the direction of the castle.

"Leanne, what happened?" Hermione demanded of Katie's friend, taking the stunned girl by the arm.

"I-I don't know," Leanne answered shakily. "We were having a Butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks, and Katie went to the bathroom. When she came out, she had that package and she said she had to take it to the castle…" She started to sob then, breaking off.

Hermione and Potter (who was still kneeling in the snow across from Draco) exchanged a dark look. "Did she say who gave it to her? Did she say who it was for?" Hermione pressed. Leanne shook her head.

A chill that had nothing to do with the icy wind ran down Draco's spine. "Before we went into the Hog's Head," he said quietly to Potter, too quietly for the others to hear, "I saw Zabini and Pansy outside The Three Broomsticks. It looked like Zabini was giving her something."

"That package?" Potter asked, frowning.

Draco shrugged. "I can't say for sure," he admitted. "But I think we may have a real problem on our hands."

And its name was Blaise Zabini.

Because Katie Bell was a Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall took a personal interest in the attack, summoning everyone who had been witness to the incident to her office the moment they entered the castle.

Weasley, having followed Hagrid to the hospital wing, soon joined Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Potter, Draco and Katie's friend Leanne in the Transfiguration professor's office. "How is she?" Hermione and Ginny asked together.

Looking slightly green, Weasley shook his head. "It's not good. Madame Pomfrey says they're taking her straight to St. Mungo's."

McGonagall cleared her throat, calling their attention back to her desk, where the cursed necklace rested on its paper wrappings. Hagrid had brought it down from the hospital wing after Madame Pomfrey apparently decided she didn't need it to help Katie.

Assuming Katie could be helped…

Draco, his arm wrapped tightly around Luna, tried not to imagine the worst. He could tell everyone in the room was thinking the same thing, though: Katie could still die.

Draco also knew Potter was considering whether to reveal his suspicions about Zabini to Gryffindor's Head of House. Silently, he willed Potter to keep his mouth shut. Whatever was going on with Zabini, whether he was acting on somebody's orders or operating from his own foolish desire to be a Death Eater like Draco, they weren't going to get any closer to the truth by asking a teacher for help – not even an accomplished witch and Order of the Phoenix member like McGonagall. They needed to feign ignorance about Zabini's involvement, in Draco's opinion, while he sniffed around for answers.

If Pansy was conspiring with Zabini, Draco could see a sure-fire way to get at the truth (though it turned his stomach to think of how much kissing might be involved in persuading Pansy to talk to him). Draco could believe that Zabini was both arrogant and stupid enough to act on his own; in that case, it was hard to tell who the necklace had been intended for – maybe Potter, maybe Luna, maybe Draco himself. Certainly not Dumbledore. So far as Draco was aware, nobody besides Snape and Potter knew about his mission.

It was an amateur move, regardless of the target. But something Rastaban Lestrange had said the night of Draco's confrontation with Voldemort gave Draco pause, made him wonder if Zabini really was acting alone.

_Smuggle in a cursed object, _Rastaban had suggested, brainstorming ways Draco could carry out his mission. Was it a coincidence that Zabini had tried to do just that? Or was someone from Voldemort's inner circle attempting to circumvent Draco, to ensure that even though Lucius Malfoy was now out of Azkaban and back home with his wife, the Malfoy family didn't resume their favored place in the Dark Lord's eyes?

Either way, if Pansy knew something, Draco wanted time to discover it on his own without McGonagall tipping Zabini off that they were onto him. Potter must have come to the same conclusion, because he kept quiet, even when McGonagall pressed them each in turn to try to remember if they'd seen anything unusual, anything at all, in Hogsmeade that morning.

"I didn't see anybody give her anything, Professor," Leanne insisted for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. She was close to tears again. Draco wished McGonagall would just dismiss them; they obviously had no useful information – not any they were willing to give up, anyway.

"Severus, I'm glad Peeves found you," McGonagall broke in as Snape swooped into the room, black robe billowing bat-like behind him. She gestured at her desk. "This is the necklace. Poppy thought you might have some idea about its properties."

Snape studied the necklace for a moment, ignoring the students standing on tip-toe to look over his shoulder.

Draco hung back, as did Luna. He could tell she was thinking the same thing: Why would anybody want to know what an object like that could do to someone? Hadn't the look of agony on Katie's helpless face told them everything they needed to know?

"I would say," Snape observed drolly, after a long, dramatic pause, "that Miss Bell is lucky to be alive."

McGonagall frowned. Draco could see she was disappointed that Snape had nothing more to say, but then she seemed to realize that the Head of Slytherin House was glaring pointedly toward the students hanging on his every word. Whatever Snape knew about the necklace, he obviously wasn't going to blurt it out in front of an audience.

Waving them away, McGonagall said quickly, "All right, you may all go back to your dormitories now."

"Not you, Draco." Snape's voice froze Draco in mid-step. "The Headmaster wants to see you."

Luna glanced up quizzically at Draco, who reluctantly slipped his arm off her shoulders. Hermione, Ginny, Weasley and Potter looked from Snape to Draco, clearly bewildered.

"Professor," Hermione piped up bravely, standing her ground despite Snape's glower, "Draco didn't have anything to do with this."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "I never said that he did, Granger."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, well…I just thought…"

"No doubt you assumed a Slytherin student must be responsible for any dark magic that takes place in this castle," Snape sneered.

Draco rolled his eyes at Snape's dramatics. Honestly, it was like the former Potions master had never left school, the way he took offense at every little thing.

Draco shot Hermione a quick smile to show his gratitude and kissed Luna on the cheek. "I'll catch up to you later," he promised, "in the library."

She nodded. He could tell she, too, was puzzled, but Luna was sensible enough not to press the issue in front of their professors.

Potter, however, was not. "I'll go with you," he said to Draco, starting for the door.

"Potter, while I realize it's hard for you to imagine that things go on in this castle that do not involve you, if the Headmaster wishes to see you, I'm certain he will let you know," Snape barked, as ever not missing a chance to put Potter in his place. "The summons was for Draco. Is that understood?"

Seeing that Potter was about to pop off something that would likely land him in detention (and possibly mess up their plans to rescue Ollivander, as Snape's detentions were never convenient), Draco seized Potter's arm and hauled him toward the door. "Thank you, sir," Draco called respectfully back to Snape. "I'll go straight there, by myself."

In the hallway, Draco released Potter, who still looked furious over Snape's behavior. "It's not worth getting a detention with Snape, mate," Weasley put in. When Hermione glared at him, he sputtered, "I-I didn't mean Malfoy's not worth it. I meant arguing with Snape. It's a lost cause, isn't it?"

Apparently realizing that he'd just offered Draco an off-handed compliment, Weasley went red as his hair and muttered, "You know what I mean."

"Thanks, Ron, I think we're perfectly clear on what you meant." Hermione turned coldly away from him and offered Draco a sympathetic shrug. "We'll see you upstairs, then?"

"I'll be fine," Draco assured them, though the truth was, he had a sneaking suspicion why the Headmaster wanted to see him.

Draco walked slowly along by himself, listening to his friends' footsteps recede down the hall. He should have seen this coming, he chided himself. Not much happened at Hogwarts that Dumbledore wasn't aware of, and no doubt Snape had spilled his guts about Draco being promoted to Death Eater status over the holiday. In fact, thinking over it now, Draco was surprised he hadn't received a summons to the Headmaster's office long ago.

After all, Potter was Dumbledore's golden boy. How long had Draco expected to be allowed to sully the Chosen One's reputation with his presence before the Headmaster intervened, ordering him to back off?

The gargoyle that usually stood in front of the staircase leading up to the Headmaster's office was already standing to one side when Draco reached the entrance. Taking that as an invitation, Draco trudged up the stairs, reminding himself that he had no right to expect Dumbledore's favor, as the biggest part of his plan involved the Headmaster not knowing what he was up to.

_Still, it'd be nice to be given the benefit of the doubt once in a while, _Draco's inner voice of self-pity piped up. He couldn't help recalling his mother's similar reaction at Christmas: She hadn't even considered that Draco might have very good reasons for allying himself with Voldemort; she'd automatically assumed the worst about him.

Dumbledore was standing behind his desk when Draco knocked once on the office door, audaciously pushing it open without waiting to be told to enter. If he was going to be treated like a troublemaker, Draco decided sourly, he could certainly act the part of an arrogant, spoiled Pureblood brat.

"Ah, Draco, I see Professor Snape found you." Dumbledore beamed, as if students routinely strutted into his office with their chins raised defiantly. He motioned Draco into a chair beside the fireplace, walking over himself to sit down as well. "I understand you've been through a rather trying ordeal this morning. Could I offer you a lemon drop?"

The Headmaster extended a crystal bowl of sweets. Looking down his nose at the Muggle treat, Draco shook his head.

Dumbledore popped a piece of the candy in his mouth. For a few moments, the silver-bearded wizard seemed to become absorbed in staring at the dancing fire in his great stone hearth; Draco waited silently, perched on the edge of his chair, steeling himself for the admonition to come: that he was not to involve the Chosen One in any further dangerous exploits, that Dumbledore had his eye on him, blah, blah, blah.

"I know what Voldemort has asked you to do, Draco."

Thanks to his weeks of Occlumency practice, Draco managed not to show his astonishment. Working all emotion out of his voice and expression, he replied evenly, "And what might that be, sir?"

"He's ordered you to kill me."

_Snape. Damn that two-faced, hook-nosed little bastard._

Dumbledore appeared supremely unperturbed for someone who was seated next to the person who had been ordered to kill them. That made sense, Draco supposed, because he knew he posed absolutely no threat to a wizard like Dumbledore, the man who, among many other amazing feats, had defeated Grindelwald.

Draco remained silent, waiting to see where the Headmaster was going with this. Inside, he was fuming at Snape – who was really something else, playing both sides of the aisle so adeptly, Draco had to admit. It would have been a tough spot for Snape after the holidays, he supposed, knowing Voldemort would destroy him for revealing Draco's mission to Dumbledore, but fearing what Dumbledore would do if it came to light that Snape had tried to hide the plot from him…

No wonder Snape was always in such a foul mood. Talk about pressure.

Reaching into the crystal bowl with the shriveled fingers of his blackened right hand, Dumbledore popped another lemon drop in his mouth, drawing Draco's attention away from his musings. "I wish you had felt comfortable coming to me for help," Dumbledore continued, causing Draco to start.

How did the Headmaster know Draco was looking for help? Not even Snape knew that.

_If Potter opened his mouth, I'll Curse him myself – I don't care if he is the Chosen One._

Even as he thought it, though, Draco somehow knew Potter hadn't betrayed his confidence. For one thing, he'd been too worried that Draco was being summoned to the Headmaster's office because he was in some kind of trouble over Katie Bell; if he'd already spilled his guts to Dumbledore, he would surely have worked out why the Headmaster wanted to talk to Draco, and he wouldn't have volunteered to accompany him.

For another, Draco just couldn't see Potter stabbing him in the back like that. It wasn't a very hero-like thing to do.

"I like to think that all of my students would come to me if they were in danger," Dumbledore was saying, pretending not to notice Draco's face draining slowly of color. "But given my relationship with Harry over the years, I can see why you might have thought I wouldn't be sympathetic to your plight."

Meaning, of course, that Dumbledore knew not everyone revered him the way Potter did – that it was perfectly reasonable for Draco to think that, given how horrid he'd been to Dumbledore's favored student all these years, the Headmaster might simply hang him out to dry.

Despite the dozens of questions chasing around his brain, Draco continued to hold his tongue. Dumbledore had yet to ask him a direct question, and Draco saw no reason to volunteer information: The less said, the better, was Draco's policy.

But what Dumbledore said next astonished Draco so much he couldn't hide his reaction.

"I'd like you to consider carrying out the mission you've been given."

Draco felt his mouth drop open, but he was momentarily unable to close it.

Smiling dryly at Draco's dumbfounded expression, Dumbledore went on smoothly, "It's a terrible thing to contemplate, of course. Murder, I mean. And it's not something I would ask anyone to consider lightly. But you see," and here Dumbledore extended the blackened fingers that had been the source of so much gossip amongst Hogwarts students, "it wouldn't really be murder, because I'm already dying."

Draco blanched. He continued to gape at Dumbledore, certain that he had misheard. But Dumbledore just looked evenly back at him, his sad blue eyes confirming what seemed, to Draco, utterly impossible.

Dumbledore, dying? DUMBLEDORE? The man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald? Who could conjure Gubraithian fire? Who had written at least half the laws in the modern wizarding world?

Dumbledore, dying?

Finally regaining enough of his composure to find his voice, Draco stammered, "But – I – but…Isn't there something – can't somebody do something?"

It wasn't just that it was Dumbledore that was dying, Draco suddenly realized, that had so shocked him, though that was plenty of a shock itself. It was the idea that Dumbledore didn't appear to be in any immediate peril – his hand aside, he looked perfectly healthy, especially for a man of his age – and yet could still be dying, and there wasn't anything anybody could do to stop that.

A wistful smile played across Dumbledore's wizened old face, almost as if he could read Draco's thoughts – the thoughts of youth confronted with death, not by battle or accident, but by slow, creeping disease.

He shook the sleeve of his robe back over his dead-looking hand. "I'm afraid not," he replied calmly, like they were discussing some stranger's demise instead of his own. "I only have now to choose the manner of my death. And I must tell you," the Headmaster noted gravely, "the Curse I am under is not a pleasant way to expire."

Mind whirling, Draco tried to sort out what was happening here. "Does…does Potter know that you're…?"

"Dying?" Dumbledore supplied. He shook his head. "No, and I don't wish for him to know. I'm sure it would distract him, and he has very important work to do at the moment."

Draco waited a beat to see if the Headmaster would follow up on that oblique reference to his private lessons with Potter. When he didn't, Draco pressed, "So you want me and Potter to be enemies?"

After all, that was the only possible outcome of Draco doing what Dumbledore had asked: If he became the wizard who killed Albus Dumbledore, Potter would never forgive him.

Nor would Luna.

Or Hermione.

Or Ginny.

Or anyone else Draco had allowed himself to begin caring about.

"On the contrary," Dumbledore countered, watching the pain of thinking through everyone he would lose flicker across Draco's face. "Nothing would please me more than to see you and Harry become great friends."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, wondering where he'd missed a step here. "Let me get this straight, Professor. You want me to kill you," he had a hard time even forming those words, but Draco struggled on, "and you think Potter's going to stay my friend after that?"

"Unfortunately, I doubt that he will. But this isn't about what I want for you, Draco," Dumbledore pointed out. Draco sensed they were coming to it now, to the heart of the reason he had been called here, why Dumbledore was making this hideous request of him. "You must see that Voldemort has plans for you."

"Plans for me to die, you mean," Draco shot back. To Dumbledore's arched eyebrow, he explained, "He doesn't really mean for me to kill you. How could I?"

Dumbledore looked duly gratified by the acknowledgement of his power – though he also disagreed.

"In the beginning, you might have been right," the Headmaster rejoined. "But you've shown yourself to be far cleverer than Voldemort anticipated. From what I hear, he has suggested that if you succeed, you will sit at his right hand when he comes to power."

There it was, the real reason he was here: Dumbledore was giving him a choice, Draco realized. He was giving him the choice to follow the path he'd started down, fighting back against Voldemort, or to take another path entirely, to decide to ally himself with the Dark Lord after all.

Had Dumbledore not been dying, Draco understood they would not have been having this conversation. But with Dumbledore gone, there was a very real possibility that Voldemort would win. How many people were going to follow a sixteen-year-old wizard to war against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, no matter what some musty old Prophecy said Potter was destined to do? Once Dumbledore was out of the picture, in all likelihood the resistance would fall apart – the Order of the Phoenix might continue to fight, but everyone else would quite possibly concede defeat, hoping to remain under the Dark Lord's radar.

Yet, even as he could see how it all might end, the world as he knew it passing away and a terrifying new order of Pureblood-fanatic witches and wizards rising – the International Statute of Secrecy giving way to a policy of Magical Domination, Muggles enslaved, Muggle-borns murdered – the idea of being the Dark Lord's second-in-command held absolutely no appeal to Draco. At one time, a time not so very long ago, he could see that he might have been tempted, not because he cared about dominating Muggles, but because it would have meant ensuring his own survival.

But not now. Not anymore.

"I don't care about that," Draco declared flatly. He met and held Dumbledore's intensely-blue gaze unwaveringly. "I've never wanted that kind of power, and I don't want it now."

The truth rang in Draco's words, and Dumbledore, recognizing it, appeared equal parts pleased and saddened. "You're not the first young man upon whose shoulders I've had to place a tremendous weight this year, Draco." Draco knew Dumbledore was referring to Potter, but he didn't press for answers. "And, as with that other remarkable young man, it is because you don't desire power that I must ask you to wield it."

"You want me to serve Voldemort?" Draco was trying to understand, but he just felt frightened and confused. Those feelings made him angry; he wanted to be treated like an adult, not like a child who couldn't be trusted with the real, plain truth.

He was starting to suspect that a master plan to bring Voldemort down existed after all – it just wasn't Potter that had designed it. In fact, Draco doubted Potter knew much of anything about what Dumbledore was really plotting, and he supposed the Chosen One was okay with that, since undoubtedly Potter adored the venerable Headmaster enough to follow his orders without question. But Draco needed some answers before he signed up to be a hero.

Dumbledore must have seen that, for he settled back in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his long fingers together. Draco, trying not to stare at the blackened hand, leaned back as well, letting the Headmaster know that he was prepared to hear him out.

"Hogwarts has always held a great fascination for Tom Riddle," Dumbledore began. "Of course, this castle was the first real home he ever knew. You see, the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort came to Hogwarts from a Muggle orphanage."

Draco could only imagine how his aunt Bella would react to that piece of news. So far as he knew, Voldemort had always made out to his Death Eaters that he came from a powerful Pureblood line – the direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, in fact.

He kept those thoughts to himself, though, as Dumbledore continued, "But even putting sentiment aside, Voldemort continues to concern himself with what goes on here. In the early days of his power, before Harry was even born, Voldemort came back to this school and asked me for a job. Can you guess what position he desired?"

Draco didn't hesitate. "Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Correct. Can you think why he would want that position, above all others?"

"Because that was where he could have the most influence."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Precisely. And that," he leaned toward Draco, coming to his point at last, "is what interests him in Hogwarts: It is the place where the heart and soul of our world is shaped.

"The Ministry of Magic administers our laws," Dumbledore explained, when Draco frowned in bewilderment. "But Hogwarts is where the people who make those laws are taught – taught how to think about Muggles, about house-elves, about Centaurs, about the Dark Arts. Whoever controls Hogwarts," Dumbledore concluded ominously, "controls the future of our world."

Obviously, that was a disconcerting thought – yet Draco couldn't see what it had to do with him. Plainly baffled, he asked, "So, what, you think Voldemort wants me to be Headmaster? I might be a bit underqualified."

Dumbledore shared in Draco's wry grin. "I think he has someone else in mind for that post. Severus Snape."

Unsurprised by that revelation at least – if Voldemort was interested in controlling Hogwarts, Snape would be a logical choice to succeed Dumbledore as Headmaster – Draco pressed, "So what does he need me for?"

"Voldemort always has and always will rule by fear." Dumbledore turned his gaze to the dancing fire, speaking softly now, so that Draco had to lean in to hear him. "He will never be beloved. And Severus is capable, but not…charismatic."

Dumbledore's eyes snapped back up to Draco's face, pinning him in place. "But you, Draco, _you _are young, and handsome, and charming, and sophisticated. Those were the very qualities Tom Riddle traded on when he was your age, before anyone had reason to fear him. Those were his avenues to power."

A tight knot began to wind itself around Draco's heart, like a cord pulling tight, constricting the flow of blood to his limbs. He felt dizzy, picturing the Dark Lord appraising him in the frigid air the night he had been made a Death Eater.

It was true, what Dumbledore said: People listened to Draco. Blaise Zabini was working so hard to undermine him because he wanted what Draco had – supreme, effortless control, partly because of who Draco was but mostly by the sheer force of his personality.

Draco could see where Dumbledore's thoughts were heading now. The cord around his heart loosened, but instead of feeling warm and safe again, Draco felt as if ice water had flooded his veins.

Because he knew Dumbledore was right.

"What Voldemort sees in you," Dumbledore concluded somberly, watching Draco closely, "is something far more valuable than the next Headmaster of Hogwarts. I believe he sees the one thing that has, until now, eluded him: A protégé, to make over in his own image, who will win the hearts and minds of those who must one day come to power."

Dumbledore paused, letting his words sink in before adding, "Voldemort wants an heir."

_You will be as a son to me now, _Voldemort hissed in Draco's ear. _Don't fail me._

A long silence followed, in which Draco warred with his conscience. He suspected he knew where Dumbledore was headed with this: If Draco were to let the Dark Lord believe he was his man, while he was really working to help Potter bring Voldemort down, it would be quite a coup for the Chosen One's side. Draco would have a chance to get closer to Voldemort than perhaps anyone, even Severus Snape, ever had.

But to do so, Draco would have to kill Albus Dumbledore. And that Dumbledore was already dying couldn't absolve Draco of that horrific act – not in his own mind, nor in the minds of everyone else, who for the ruse Dumbledore envisioned to succeed would have to believe Draco Malfoy was a cold-blooded murderer.

Luna. Hermione. Ginny. The Patil twins. The little Creevey brothers. Seamus Finnigan. Dean Thomas. Neville Longbottom. His own parents.

Potter.

Aware of Dumbledore's eyes on him, Draco blew out a slow breath. "I need time," he said simply. "I need time to think about it."

"Of course." Yet even as Dumbledore nodded understandingly, he splayed his blackened fingers once more on the arm of the chair. "But I'm afraid you will have to decide soon."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen: Hidden Things

Luna loved Quidditch days. She adored the game, for one thing – always had, since she was a little girl. She thought it was an incredibly graceful sport, the Chasers zooming around one another trading off the Quaffle, the Beaters trying to protect their teammates from the Bludgers, the Keeper guarding the goals, and (her personal favorite position) the Seeker circling above them all, hunting the Golden Snitch. It was like ballet, only more interesting and a lot more festive.

That was the other reason Luna looked forward to Quidditch at Hogwarts: the atmosphere. Everyone was in such high spirits, it suddenly didn't matter how much homework they were all staring down, or who had just broken up with her boyfriend, or what nasty comment a teacher had made about somebody's spellwork. People loosened up, painted their faces, screamed and cheered and jeered and clapped, and generally forgot their problems. In short, everybody seemed to be as happy as Luna generally was, at least for a few hours.

But, the Saturday after the Hogsmeade visit that had ended so horribly for poor Katie Bell, Luna didn't join the students thronging down to the Quidditch pitch to watch Gryffindor stomp Hufflepuff. Instead, she waited for the Ravenclaw common room to empty, and then, with a hardly a wistful glance out the window at everyone bundled up against the fierce February cold, made her way through the silent corridors to the Room of Hidden Things.

She could hear the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors chanting, "Harr-Y! Harr-Y!" She hoped her presence amongst the Gryffindors wouldn't be too terribly missed; she liked to think that her one-of-a-kind roaring-lion hat added a little extra boost to her favorite team.

But Harry didn't need her today. He had plenty of people to cheer him on. Today, Draco needed her.

She knew he wouldn't be down at the game. As he'd predicted last term, the day after his public confrontation with Ron in Hogsmeade, Draco had been removed from the Slytherin's Quidditch team, replaced as Seeker by Tristan Harper. She hadn't given much thought at the time to how hurtful that might be for Draco; honestly, he had only ever been a mediocre Quidditch player, and Luna had assumed his talent equated with his enthusiasm for the game. But he hadn't attended a single match since, and Luna suspected she knew right where he would be today.

Their private sanctuary: The Room of Hidden Things.

Her suspicions were confirmed, though Luna did a double-take when she rounded a corner beside a table with two charred legs (reminding her of the damage caused by Draco's Incendiary spells during their D.A. meetings) and spotted not Draco but the giant silver panther pacing back and forth in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. She pulled up short, taking a small step back so the damaged table concealed her.

It hadn't escaped her notice that Draco had hardly been himself since his private meeting with Dumbledore – about which he had been distinctly evasive. Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had all been so relieved when Draco strolled into the library, assuring them he wasn't under some cloud of suspicion for the incident with Katie, that none of them had pressed too hard on his (rather lame, in Luna's opinion) explanation that the Headmaster had wanted to find out how he was coping with his father being a wanted fugitive. She didn't think the others had been fooled, exactly: Harry and Hermione had exchanged a meaningful look, Ginny had arched an eyebrow, and Ron had nearly bitten his lip in two trying to keep his mouth shut. But nobody had asked for a better explanation.

Luna thought she understood their reasons. Ginny was just that way; she didn't try to ferret out people's secrets, instead either coming up with her own theories or minding her own business, the latter of which seemed to be her tactic where Draco was concerned. Harry and Hermione knew Dumbledore well enough not to push for Draco to reveal something the Headmaster had asked him to keep to himself. And Ron wasn't about to suggest that Draco might be lying about anything, not when he'd so recently come close to losing his two best friends for doing that very thing.

Luna had let it go because she didn't think Draco needed an interrogator at the moment. He needed someone who trusted his judgment and who would be there whenever he was ready to talk.

Watching him now in his Animagus form, Luna couldn't help wondering what Dumbledore had said to him. What could be so bad that Draco would feel the need not just to withdraw from everyone, as he had over the past week, but to retreat even from himself, into a form where, he had told her, his thoughts and emotions were a lot less complicated?

Sometimes, the weight of all Draco hadn't told her rested heavily on Luna's thin shoulders, matched only by the burden of all she didn't dare ask. And sometimes, she found herself wishing there didn't have to be so many secrets between them – that he would just talk to her, the way she talked to him, about almost anything._  
When he's ready, _a small, steady voice inside Luna whispered against her frustrations. _Until then, just love him._

Draco must have sensed her presence, because the panther suddenly stopped pacing and turned its lithe body toward her, growling low in its throat. Luna quickly stepped out from her hiding place, pretending to have only arrived that very moment.

The panther's mercury-colored eyes appraised her with keen human thoughtfulness. Luna wasn't scared of the creature, of course; in fact, she found Draco's Animagus form almost as beautiful as his human-self. Skipping down the row, she called, "Hi, Whiskers."

The panther sat back on its haunches and lifted one enormous paw in such a perfect imitation of a human wave that Luna burst out laughing.

She dropped a quick kiss on the cat's long, velvety snout. "Glad to see me?"

In response, the panther bumped her palm with the top of its head, inviting her to scratch behind its ears. After a moment, though, the creature paced back a step, and in the blink of an eye, the giant silver cat had transformed once more into Draco.

The Transfiguration never failed to impress Luna.

"What're you doing here?" Draco asked, trying and failing to look stern. He was obviously glad to see her. "Shouldn't you be roaring Potter on to victory?"

Luna smiled serenely. "I'm pretty sure Gryffindor can win without me."

"That's not what I meant." Draco came forward and took her face in his hands, looking hard into her eyes. "You don't have to stay up here and watch me sulk, love. Go have fun."

"Maybe if I'm here, you won't feel like sulking," Luna reasoned sweetly. She took a step closer so her body was pressed against the length of his. "Maybe I came up here to distract you."

Draco's sapphire eyes took on that smoky hue that always turned Luna's knees to jelly.

Still holding her face gently between his hands, he dipped his head and brushed his lips lightly across hers. "That's a distinct possibility," he murmured against the corner of her mouth, "because I find you very distracting."

He was kissing her then, softly, teasing. Luna unabashedly caught the front of his black sweater and hauled him closer, taking charge of the kiss. Draco's fingers tangled in her hair; she held tightly to the front of his shirt, losing herself in the delicious sensation that they were floating up into the clouds.

There was something different about Draco today, the part of her mind that could still process rational thought noted. Something more…well, the word that came to mind was more _animal. _Not since their first-ever kiss in this very room had he responded to her with such passion.

Which, in Luna's book, was really quite wonderful. Definitely worth missing Quidditch.

Draco's mouth slid away from hers. He chuckled when she uttered a soft growl of protest, but he wasn't breaking the kiss. Instead, his nose skimmed her jaw as his lips moved across to the curve of her ear. Luna's knees threatened to give way; she clutched him to keep herself upright.

"Just tell me when to stop," Draco whispered raggedly, feathering kisses down to the hollow of her throat, where Luna could feel her pulse beating wildly.

In response, she slipped her hands inside his sweater, splaying her palms across his chest.

She heard Draco's breath catch in his throat, but for once, he didn't call a halt to things, as he was wont to do the moment Luna really started enjoying herself. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers again in a long, slow, burning kiss.

She tilted his head back and started her own exploration of the tender skin along his collarbone. _Just tell me when to stop _– that was what Draco always said if their kisses pushed against a certain invisible (to Luna, anyway) boundary.

She wondered if he was ever going to notice that _she_ was never the one to stop.

Luna didn't think of herself as brave, yet the truth was, when she knew what she wanted, she was fearless. And when it came to Draco, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Draco was the one to catch her wrists and pull her hands away when she started to work his sweater up over his stomach, with every intention of tugging it right off over his blonde head. She could see the struggle going on inside of him, the determined set to his jaw clashing with his smoldering eyes; for a moment, she thought his remarkable self-control might finally snap.

It didn't.

With a sigh, Draco dropped a light kiss on her forehead, stepped back, and ran a hand distractedly through his hair. Luna sighed, too, though she was really too happy to be disappointed. Kissing Draco always left her with a lovely tingly feeling right down to her toes. Watching him compose himself afterwards was nearly as much fun as kissing him, she'd discovered: She doubted anyone would believe that Draco Malfoy could so entirely lose his cool reserve, standing there with his sleek hair a tousled mess, his blue eyes fever-bright, his pale skin flushed. Luna adored him this way. She knew she must look just as disheveled, but she didn't feel self-conscious about it. Love made people beautiful.

"Well, that was certainly…"

"Distracting?" Luna supplied, when Draco turned toward her, at a loss for the right word. They shared a grin.

"Quite," he agreed.

Luna walked over to him and fixed his mussed her into place with her fingers. Watching her with a tender smile playing on his lips, Draco reached out to trace her cheekbone with the tip of his index finger; when Luna turned her head to rest her cheek against his palm, a glint of silver on his left wrist caught her eye.

She took Draco's hand, rolling the sleeve of his sweater back to reveal a gorgeous silver watch, its face inlaid with an emerald serpent. "This is beautiful," she murmured, truly impressed.

"My father gave it to me." Draco's voice betrayed the pride and admiration he still held for his father, despite the fact that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater.

Which, of course, Draco was, too, though not in the same way. But the reminder of Draco's father, newly escaped from Azkaban, brought to Luna's mind the Mark that Draco bore now as well.

A Mark she had never seen with her own eyes.

Timidly, watching Draco's blue eyes carefully, Luna pushed the sleeve of his sweater up a bit farther. He stiffened as he realized what she was doing, but he didn't stop her.

The Dark Mark looked something like an old, faded tattoo against the smooth skin of his inner left forearm. In fact, if Luna hadn't known what it was, she would have had a difficult time making out the image of a serpent slithering from a skull's mouth; in the room's dim light, the Mark more resembled an old scar than anything else.

"Ugly, isn't it?"

Despite his light tone, Luna sensed Draco was genuinely concerned that she would be repulsed by the Mark. As answer, she pressed a kiss into the palm of his left hand, murmuring against his skin, "Nothing about you could ever be ugly to me."

Draco swept her up into a hug, lifting her feet clean off the floor. Luna giggled. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you," he whispered against her hair.

Luna grinned at him as he sat her back on the ground. "Maybe you're not as bad as you think."

Draco opened his mouth to retort but, all at once, stilled so suddenly that Luna thought for a moment he'd been hit by a Body-Bind curse. Then she heard it, too.

Voices.

In the corridor.

Luna's eyes widened. She could see her thoughts reflected on Draco's face: No one uninvited could get in here, not while they were using the Room.

_Could they?_

Draco seized Luna's arm and hauled her around behind a large, foul-smelling steamer trunk, the contents of which Luna didn't care to guess at. They hunkered down, hidden by piles of broken furniture, graffitied books, and empty sherry bottles, neither of them saying a word as the voices came into the room.

Luna's heart was hammering in her chest, but she had the presence of mind to ease her wand out of the pocket of her blue-plaid skirt. At the sight of Draco's hawthorn wand resting lightly at his side, hopefulness buoyed her.

They knew how to fight. Whatever enemies they were facing – assuming it was enemies and not just some student looking to hide evidence of mischief – they could hold their own.

"I told you, Blaise, Draco's not up here!" That was Pansy Parkinson, sounding more frightened than annoyed, though Luna could tell the Slytherin girl was doing her best to hide her fear. "He only comes here for those stupid meetings with Potter and his groupies."

"Then where's he always disappearing off to, Pansy?" Zabini shot back acidly.

Luna shuddered. Just the sound of Zabini's voice awoke within her several seriously unpleasant memories: his lips beside her ear, his fingers in her hair, his eyes sliding suggestively over her…

She felt Draco studying her and worked to keep her expression placid. She had vowed never to tell Draco what Zabini had threatened to do to her. It was a promise she knew she had to keep so long as she didn't want Draco expelled for working the Cruciatus curse on a fellow student.

Or worse.

"I have no idea where he goes," Pansy was saying. "It's not any of our business, is it? You-Know-Who said – "

"Yes, I've heard all about Malfoy's 'secret mission,'" Zabini cut her off, his words dripping with disdain. "I'd wager I know a bit more about it than you do, in fact."

The voices were very close now. Luna could see Zabini's shadow around the corner. Draco tensed, lifting his wand an inch.

Not ten feet from them, Pansy and Zabini came to a stop. Pansy had her arms folded belligerently across her chest; Zabini was casting his dark eyes about the room, obviously looking for something.

What, Luna couldn't imagine. She chanced a look at Draco, but he seemed as perplexed by the little scene playing out in front of them as she was.

"Come off it, Blaise." Pansy tossed her dark hair haughtily over her shoulder. "You're always dropping hints that you've got some kind of inside track on what You-Know-Who is doing. Everybody knows you're just faking it because you're jealous of Draco."

"Really? Is that what you think?" Zabini's oily smile made Luna's skin crawl. Of all the nasty, creepy things her father had written about in _The Quibbler _over the years, she thought Zabini was more disgusting than an Aquavirius Maggot and a moon frog put together.

"Ok," Pansy challenged, "if you know so much, then what do _you _think Draco's doing in this…wherever we are right now?"

"It's called the Room of Hidden Things," Zabini replied patiently. "And I think Draco's looking for something. Something You-Know-Who wants."

Real fear touched Pansy's face, undisguised now. Luna almost felt sorry for her (except remembering how Pansy tended to paw at Draco, she found her sympathy a bit lacking). "You-Know-Who gave Draco a mission, Blaise. You'd best stay out of it."

"Don't you want to hear what he's after?"

"No." Pansy actually put her hands over her ears and shook her head. Luna couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl now: Her run-in with You-Know-Who over the holidays must have really been terrifying.

Zabini didn't seem to care. Turning toward the spot where Draco and Luna hid – Luna nearly gasped, thinking for a second he'd seen them – he lifted his wand and cried, "_Accio _Elder Wand!"

Nothing happened.

Luna watched Draco out of the corner of her eye, wondering if Zabini was serious – and if Draco knew anything about You-Know-Who searching for one of the Deathly Hallows. He didn't appear to. In fact, he was staring at Zabini the way Luna was used to people looking at her when she suggested Cornelius Fudge had an army of Heliopaths at his command.

Even Luna had to admit to a small measure of surprise. She hadn't taken You-Know-Who for the sort who would read _The Quibbler. _And those tended to be the only people who believed, as Luna's father did, that the Deathly Hallows were actually real, not just a children's story.

"I'm leaving." Pansy turned on her heel, but Zabini caught her arm.

She yanked away from him, anger at last replacing her fear. "You want to get between Draco and whatever he's been ordered to do, Blaise, you can do it on your own. I'm not going to help you. I don't even know why I came up here with you. Draco's my boyfriend – "

Zabini snorted. "That's rich. A boyfriend who can barely stand to look at you? A boyfriend who spends half his time snogging Loony Lovegood?"

Draco tensed. Luna chanced the small movement of reaching out to place a restraining hand on his arm. So far, Zabini and Pansy seemed supremely unaware of their presence, and, more importantly, supremely unaware of the existence of the Vanishing Cabinet. Luna didn't think it would be a good idea to confirm Zabini's suspicions that Draco was spending hours of his time in the Room of Hidden Things. Hopefully, now that he'd discovered the Elder Wand wasn't up here (or, Luna reflected, at least didn't respond to Summoning charms), he wouldn't feel the need to return.

Pansy looked murderous. "Draco's doing what he has to do. He doesn't really like that girl. He wouldn't be interested in a blood traitor."

The protest sounded feeble, even to Luna's ears. Zabini's cruel smile twisted her insides. While she didn't like Pansy Parkinson, she didn't think it was necessary for Zabini to rub it in to her that Draco had fallen for somebody else.

Expecting him to make some further crude remark about her relationship with Draco, Luna was startled when Zabini wheedled, "Or maybe you prefer having a so-called boyfriend who snogs somebody else."

Pansy stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I saw you. In the common room, with Johanna Evanston. After you thought everybody else had gone to bed."

For a heartbeat, Luna was baffled. Then the meaning of Zabini's words dawned on her, and she didn't know which emotion was more powerful: surprise, that Pansy, who had always seemed so sweet on Draco, actually preferred girls, or disgust, that Zabini would trot that information out like a weapon to be used against her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slow smile spread across Draco's face. It wasn't malicious; it was more like he had finally understood something that had troubled him for a long while.

Or maybe he was just relieved that he wasn't actually breaking Pansy's heart. Luna didn't think Draco truly disliked Pansy; if anything, he was more protective of her than the other Slytherins. She suspected it had bothered Draco to string Pansy along, knowing full well he never intended to be with her.

Those thoughts flitted quickly across Luna's mind, because her attention was primarily focused on Pansy's reaction to Zabini's implied threat. First, Pansy blushed bright red, her mouth working uselessly. But, in the next second, her expression became wooden.

"So what you're saying," she said tightly, "is that if I don't help you figure out where Draco's been looking for this Elder Wand, you're going to tell everyone about me?"

Zabini nodded. He didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "That pretty much covers it, yeah."

Pansy spat at him. She actually spit right in his face. Luna felt a surge of gleeful vengeance so intense she nearly leapt to her feet and applauded.

Too stunned to respond, Zabini simply stared as Pansy snarled, "You go right ahead and tell people, then. See if I care. But I am not going to help you do anything else to Draco. I listened to you once, and it nearly got me killed. If it hadn't been for Draco, Bellatrix Lestrange would've taken me apart one piece at a time. I'm not about to forget that.

"You want to get involved in all of this, you go right ahead." Pansy was so furious she actually stomped her foot. "I'm done. Draco is doing what You-Know-Who commanded, and I am not getting in his way. And if you like being alive," she finished hotly, "I'd suggest you don't, either."

Luna silently cheered as Pansy stalked off, head held high. Seeing Zabini put in his place left her with the same intense giddiness as watching Quidditch.

Zabini, however, wasn't one to go down quietly. Narrowing his eyes at Pansy's back, he lifted his wand and cried, "_Imperio_!"

_Oh my god, did he really just do that?_

Gaping in disbelief, Luna was so shocked she didn't know whether to rush to Pansy's aid or stay right where she was. Draco made the decision for her: Slipping his fingers through hers, he shot her a meaningful look which plainly said, _Stay put._

Eyes strangely blank, Pansy turned obediently back toward Zabini, who marched right up to her and slapped her across the face. Her head snapped to one side. Luna flinched; Draco's jaw clenched in fury.

"You are going to help me," Zabini informed Pansy, who simply stood silently in front of him, showing no sign that she wished to fight back, "whether you like it or not. Now let's go."

Like a well-trained dog following its master, Pansy trailed wordlessly along behind Zabini. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the large, crowded room until they disappeared back into the corridor.

Draco wanted to kill Blaise Zabini.

Watching him walk out of the Room of Hidden Things with Pansy in tow, Draco actually considered murder. It wasn't the sort of random thought anybody could have now and again about someone they really despised, like the sudden _I wish you were dead _kind of mental outburst that instantly faded. It was a real, honest-to-goodness impulse to stand up, point his wand at Zabini's back, and shout the Killing Curse.

The thought left Draco distinctly unsettled. Had he really become the sort of person who could off-handedly contemplate murder? Was that what Dumbledore wanted him to become – to defeat Voldemort, would it be necessary to really earn his Dark Mark?

Of course, Draco didn't act on his impulse. Instead, turning his back on Luna, he released his anger on a pile of broken chairs. "_Reducto_!"

Furniture exploded in a rain of splinters, deflected away from them by Luna's Shield charm.

_Deep breaths. Deeeeeeep breaths. Calm down._

Draco took his own advice, hauled in a lungful of air, and blew a long, slow breath out between his lips. Only when he was certain he had control of his anger did he turn back to Luna.

Who was smiling serenely, as if her boyfriend hadn't just blasted a pile of chairs into tiny bits.

"Better?" she asked lightly.

Feeling slightly foolish as his fury receded, Draco admitted, "A bit." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, murmuring sheepishly, "Sorry about that."

"It's all right. I get angry sometimes, too."

That was hard to imagine, given the dreamy way Luna floated through her days, but Draco had seen enough of her inner steel these past few months not to underestimate Luna's emotional range. Behind that flighty exterior hid impressive strength, and from personal experience, Draco knew how much strength one could draw from anger.

The kind of anger he felt now, reflecting on Zabini's betrayal. Not that he hadn't been expecting something along these lines; Zabini's jealousy grew by the day. But the form it had taken, Zabini's reference to the Elder Wand, his not-so-veiled hints that somebody inside Voldemort's inner circle was feeding him information…That had been a surprise.

And putting Pansy under the Imperius curse – that was true Death Eater style. Zabini was well on his way to becoming exactly the sort of monster he apparently longed to be.

So far as Draco was aware, Blaise Zabini's family had no close connection to Voldemort. Certainly his mother, though a suspected murderess, was no Death Eater. Draco wasn't entirely certain which of the notoriously beautiful witch's seven husbands had been Zabini's father (despite her parade of ill-fated spouses, he had always known her as "Ms. Zabini," a tall, dark-skinned woman with the same almond-shaped eyes as her son), but he couldn't recall Lucius ever mentioning any of those husbands being amongst Voldemort's followers. If Nott or Crabbe or Goyle had been in possession of insider information, that Draco would have understood, given that their fathers were Death Eaters. But Zabini? Who amongst Voldemort's followers would reach out to him, and why?

Furthermore, if someone was encouraging Zabini to find out what Draco was doing for the Dark Lord, it suggested, in the first place, that whoever it was either didn't know about Draco's orders to kill Dumbledore or was too scared to reveal that information, and, secondly, that it was someone who really, really hated the Malfoys. Hated them enough to risk Voldemort's wrath by setting up someone to compete with Draco for Voldemort's favor.

The question still was, who?

Luna had another question, however, which she asked as they threaded their way around the odd stacks of junk to the door, where Draco motioned for her to wait while he listened to be sure Zabini and Pansy weren't still in the hallway.

"Are you going to tell Harry?"

Draco considered that. From the moment Zabini had placed Pansy under the Imperius curse, Draco had been agonizing over what to do next – go to Potter, go to Snape, go to Dumbledore? Potter would want to act immediately, the way Luna had been tempted to do; Draco shared the impulse, but unlike his heroic friends, he was more inclined to think through his actions, and he still thought they were more likely to find out what Zabini was really up to if they didn't let him know they were onto him. That same logic persuaded Draco not to go to Dumbledore, who (Draco believed) would surely insist on protecting Pansy from whatever Zabini intended to use her for.

In this instance, Snape might have been the most useful person to tell, seeing as how he could warn Voldemort that someone was interfering with the mission he'd assigned Draco. But Draco didn't want Voldemort's eye trained anymore closely on Hogwarts than it already was. And Snape, although Draco was beginning to accept the possibility that the Head of Slytherin House really had turned against the Dark Lord, was a pair of those eyes. Draco wanted to stay under Snape's radar as much as possible.

So, after thinking it over, Draco decided, "I don't think we should tell anyone. I'll handle it."

Luna didn't say anything, yet Draco had the distinct impression that she didn't approve. They had stepped into the hallway – which was, thankfully, empty – and started toward the stairs. He stopped and took her hand, turning her to face him.

"I know you're frightened of Zabini. I wish you'd tell me why."

Arranging her features into a perfectly placid expression – Draco had begun to be able to distinguish Luna's authentic happiness from her affected serenity – she returned lightly, "I think you saw why, in there. He's very cruel, isn't he?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "If he did something to you – "

"You'd kill him."

Because he had minutes ago come terrifyingly close to doing that very thing, Draco found himself speechless. How _did _this girl see him so clearly? Why was he such an open book to her when he could deceive everyone else in his life with such ease?

_Because you want her to know you. You want SOMEONE to see you._

Wishing his inner voice didn't always have to be so insightful, Draco managed, "I might, I suppose. Are you telling me I'd have a reason to?"

Rather than answer, Luna changed the subject. "Do you think he was being serious, about You-Know-Who wanting the Elder Wand?"

It was the first time Luna had ever asked him, even indirectly, what he knew about Voldemort's plans. Guiltily, Draco realized that, no matter how desperately he wanted to share all of himself with Luna, and no matter how completely he trusted her, there were some secrets he couldn't reveal, some things about him she could never know: His conversation with Dumbledore had only served to drive that point home.

Tucking her under his arm, Draco led Luna down the stairwell, in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitory. He knew the Quidditch match would soon be ending and she would want to congratulate Potter on his team's victory. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said carefully, "but I don't see Voldemort putting much stock in an old children's story."

"Yes, that surprised me, too." Draco was relieved when Luna didn't seem offended by his veiled reference to her father's rather ridiculous beliefs. "But then I thought about something Harry said, after the Triwizard Tournament. About You-Know-Who's wand connecting with his in the graveyard, when You-Know-Who tried to kill him."

Draco's steps slowed as an icy chill spread through his veins. He was familiar with the story of the Peverell brothers and the Deathly Hallows; in fact, it had been one of his favorite stories as a child, one he'd asked his mother to read to him over and over again. To Draco, even when he was a small boy, the only Hallow that had really seemed important was the Deathstick. A wand more powerful than any other in existence, supposedly crafted with a core of Thestral hair, was surely worth much more than a stone that could bring back dead people or a cloak that could make somebody invisible, at least to wizards who could already do that anyway, with a Disillusionment charm –

_Potter has an Invisibility Cloak._

But that didn't mean the Hallows existed, of course, Draco reasoned. Lots of people had Invisibility Cloaks. Granted, they tended to be poorly-made things, certainly not likely to last more than thirteen years, the way Potter's had, since it had belonged to his father first…

_And Voldemort is holding a wandmaker hostage._

Could it be? Could Voldemort really be searching for the Elder Wand, believing the only way to ensure that he would be able to kill the Chosen One was to use a wand made by Death himself?

"What are you thinking?" Luna inquired, reaching up and tracing a fingertip over the furrows creasing Draco's forehead.

Absently catching her fingers and pressing a quick kiss to them, Draco replied, "I'm thinking we need to go get Granger."

Luna arched an eyebrow at that. "Hermione? Why?"

"Because I need to find a book."

"But I've never heard of it."

Draco sighed impatiently. He and Luna had cornered Hermione on her way in from the Quidditch pitch – as expected, Gryffindor had won, and the celebration was currently under way in the Gryffindor common room – and had asked her to come straight to the library. She had come without question, but now that they were closeted away together next to the Restricted Section, she seemed unable to grasp that there was some book about wizarding history she hadn't yet read.

"_The Tales of Beedle the Bard _is a children's book, Granger," Draco explained. "Last time I checked, you did grow up in the Muggle world. It stands to reason you wouldn't have heard of it."

Mollified, Hermione turned to the dark, shadowy recesses of the Restricted Section. "And you think there's something more here," she gestured at the books, "about this, what'd you call it? The 'Elder Wand'?"

"Shh." Draco glanced around, hoping nobody had overhead that. He didn't want to advertise what they were researching for fear it would get back to Zabini, who might put two and two together and deduce that Draco really had been in the Room of Hidden Things that afternoon – which meant he would feel the need to return there, and might discover the Vanishing Cabinet.

"Look, it's one of the most evil wands of all time. If it's been written about, I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't want just anybody getting hold of such a book."

Still looking skeptical, Hermione nevertheless pulled out a small silver badge from the pocket of her robes. She waved it at a portrait of a sleepy-looking witch reading a book that hung beside the entrance to the Restricted Section.

"Very well, dear, you may go in," the witch in the portrait yawned.

"Thank you," Hermione said, lifting the rope that cordoned the Restricted Section off from the rest of the library.

The witch frowned at Draco and Luna. "No pass, no entry, my dears. Do you have a pass?"

As neither of them did, they turned and walked over to a table nearby, watching Hermione disappear into the cobweb-strewn rows.

Draco couldn't help wondering how big a bookworm one had to be to earn a pass to the Restricted Section. Usually, students had to ask the librarian, Madam Pince, for access to that part of the library, and to check out a Restricted book, they needed a signed note from a teacher. Not Hermione, apparently. She had free run of the place, which was why Draco had sought her out: He didn't feature explaining to Madam Pince or, worse yet Snape, what he needed with a book on the Elder Wand.

"We're going to have to explain this all to her, you know," Luna mused airily, playing with the seahorse charm on her necklace.

Draco grunted. "I'm well aware of Granger's need to know everything about everything, yes."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Call Hermione 'Granger.'"

"Because I think it's asking quite a lot of her to put up with me at all, without me taking the liberty of using her first name." Draco hoped his brutal honesty would earn him Luna's sympathy (which was always welcome when it came with a kiss) and furthermore would shut down her probing questions for a time. He was pleased to find that his strategy worked like a charm on both fronts, so that several minutes later, Hermione had to clear her throat to get their attention when she emerged from the stacks.

Sliding off of Draco's lap into her own chair, Luna picked up one of the three books Hermione had deposited onto the table. "I recognize this." She tapped the front of the thick, dusty volume, which bore an odd triangular rune, red against a black over. "Dad has a necklace like it."

"What does it mean?" Hermione asked.

"Dad says it's a symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

Hermione looked blank – and a little wary, Draco thought, no doubt anticipating some nonsense about fire-breathing worms or some other mythical creature.

"What exactly are the 'Deathly Hallows'?"

And so, very quietly, Draco related to Hermione the story of the Peverell brothers, who defeated Death one day on a bridge and were awarded three very powerful gifts: The Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Elder Wand. Hermione listened closely, especially when Draco came to the part about Zabini trying to Summon the Elder Wand in the Room of Hidden Things and implying to Pansy that he'd been told Voldemort was looking for it.

Draco stopped short of telling her that Zabini had also placed Pansy under the Imperius Curse. Nor did he mention Zabini's revelation regarding Pansy's relationship with Johanna Evanston; in Draco's opinion, that was Pansy's secret to tell, not his.

Luna said nothing about his omissions. Draco placed his hand over hers on the table, squeezing her fingers to let her know how much he appreciated her solidarity. It was nicer than he could ever have imagined to have someone who was always on his side – and not because they were too thick to think for themselves, like Crabbe and Goyle, but because they really believed in him.

"Where would Zabini be getting this information?" Hermione wondered aloud, her voice so low Draco and Luna had to lean in to hear her.

Draco had been turning that very question over in his mind for the past hour, and he now offered up a tentative possibility. "I think it might be my uncle Rodolphus."

"Your uncle?" Hermione frowned. "But why would he help Zabini?"

"Because he hates my father," Draco replied simply. "He's always resented that my father didn't go to Azkaban like he and my aunt Bella did when Voldemort disappeared. At Christmas he wasn't exactly toasting my long life. And now that my father's home from prison, and I'm…"

He shrugged, finding the words, _I'm a Death Eater, _too distasteful to actually utter aloud, but Hermione nodded to show she understood. "I can see him trying to undermine my standing with Voldemort, is all."

That still left the question of how Rodolphus was communicating with Zabini without Voldemort knowing, not to mention why he would have chosen Zabini for his plot, but despite those unanswered questions, Hermione seemed persuaded enough by Draco's answer.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"First of all, we try to find out whatever we can about where the Elder Wand really is," Draco replied, gesturing toward the books spread out in front of them. "But I think it's safe to assume Voldemort's already doing his own research."

Luna shivered. "Poor Mr. Ollivander."

"I think we can all agree that the less time Voldemort has to question Ollivander about wand-lore, the better." Hermione and Luna nodded vigorously. "Any word from the Weasley twins about their…project?"

Hermione shook her head, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "No, not yet." Her eyes met Draco's, and he saw unabashed fear there. "If You-Know-Who finds this wand, do you really think it's as powerful as they say? I mean, could he really defeat Harry with it?"

It seemed incredible, Draco had to admit. Maybe it was spending so much time around Luna, or maybe it was just growing up and realizing the world was much more complicated than he'd once believed, yet incredible as it was, Draco found he could believe that the Elder Wand existed. Probably not made by Death himself, but nevertheless, an extremely powerful magical weapon that might tip the balance in Voldemort's favor.

Hermione must have read those thoughts on his face, because her cheeks slowly drained of color. Draco, one hand still folded over Luna's, held his other hand out to Hermione across the table. She laid her trembling fingers in his. Her skin, he noted, was like ice.

_She really cares for him, _Draco realized. He didn't know why it struck him only then, when he'd been aware for weeks of how adoringly Hermione looked at Potter. Somehow, as the possibility of the Chosen One's defeat hung in the air between them, it finally became real to Draco what it would mean for someone other than himself if Potter were to die.

"We're not going to let that happen," Draco promised them both, looking from Luna's trusting smile to Hermione's glistening eyes. "Whatever it takes, we'll keep that wand out of Voldemort's hands. I swear it."

Because if Voldemort claimed the Elder Wand, it would likely mean the end of Harry Potter. And Harry Potter was the best chance Draco, Luna, Hermione, and everyone else worth saving had for survival.

_A/N: Friends and Enemies has been nominated for an Energize W.I.P. Award for Most Promising Harry Potter Fanfiction! I wanted to tell you all how truly honored I am by this. And it makes me so glad that even though I am still writing my own original stories, I never got away from fanfiction, because it is where I started to truly find my love of writing, in no small part because of the wonderful people who read and write fanfiction. I love you all so dearly! I can't post the link here, but if you replace the * with dots you can check out the nominees and vote for your faves: www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com/2011/09/nominees*html_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty: Ready or Not

Draco thought Potter took the news that Voldemort was on the trail of a wand that could beat even the Chosen One remarkably well. Maybe a bit too well, actually, since he didn't seem inclined to immediate action.

"Look, I'm not saying it's not important," Potter assured the worried faces gathered around him in the Room of Requirement, where Luna, Hermione and Draco had hung back after the D.A. meeting to fill Potter, Weasley and Ginny in on their theory about the Dark Lord's search for the Elder Wand.

It was the day after the Quidditch match, and the first chance they'd all had to be alone together. The Gryffindor celebration had stretched well into Saturday night, and Draco had made Hermione swear she wouldn't broach the subject of the Deathstick with Potter on her own.

"Blimey, Harry, if You-Know-Who gets his hands on the Elder Wand – assuming it exists, of course – that could mean…" Weasley, as usual half a step behind everyone else, glanced around nervously, as if the wand might drop out of the air. "You don't really think it would be hidden here at Hogwarts, do you?"

Hermione, tucking her hair behind her ears, fielded that one. "There's no reason to think so." After less than twenty-four hours of research, Hermione already sounded like an expert on the Deathly Hallows. "There's not a lot written about the Hallows beyond children's stories, though there are legends that seem to pop now and again of people killing one another to take possession of really powerful wands." She sniffed, showing how disgusting she found the Elder Wand's bloody history.

Weasley disagreed with Hermione's position, and for once, Draco thought he had a point. "Well, sure people would kill to get their hands on something like that. I mean, think about it, Hermione: If Harry could get hold of this Elder Wand, he'd be the invincible one, right?"

Hermione leveled a coldly disapproving glare on Weasley that made Draco glad he'd kept his similar thoughts on the matter to himself. "First of all," she rejoined sternly, "the Elder Wand does _not _make a person invincible. Secondly, there's absolutely nothing in its history I can find that connects it to Hogwarts. And finally," she finished, looking pointedly at Potter, "Harry has other things to focus on."

Weasley hushed up at that. In spite of himself, Draco felt a moment's irritation that Weasley had been let in on whatever the big secret was between Potter and Dumbledore while he, Draco, was still in the dark.

_Come off it, _he ordered himself. _They've been friends forever. Of course Potter trusts Weasley more than me. Hell, he probably trusts Peeves more than he trusts me._

Ginny spoke up then, plainly anxious. "Harry, we can't just sit back and do nothing. Ron's right about one thing: You-Know-Who doesn't need to become any more powerful than he already is."

Potter ran a hand through his hair. He was clearly vexed by everyone's concern, yet he resisted agreeing to an immediate plan of action. "We've got Fred and George working on moving the cabinet out of Borgin and Burke's. As soon as that's done, I agree, we need to start thinking seriously about how to rescue Ollivander. Until then, what can we do?"

"We've gotten out of Hogwarts before without a Vanishing Cabinet," Weasley pointed out. "Maybe we shouldn't put this off, mate."

Draco knew exactly why Potter wanted to wait on the Weasley twins: He didn't think they were ready to face the Death Eaters. As usual, the Chosen One's unwillingness to put anyone in harm's way was holding him back from what needed to be done.

Although he'd been quiet all evening, content to let Hermione and Luna do the talking (which seemed the wisest course whenever Weasley was around), Draco declared quietly, "You can wait as long as you like, Potter, and there's still no guarantee we'll all survive."

Potter glared at him and squared his shoulders. "I say when we're ready, got it?"

Bristling at being put in his place, reminded that Dumbledore's golden boy was the one in charge, Draco nevertheless tried to be reasonable. "Voldemort won't wait forever. Sooner or later, we have to face him."

"You came crawling to me for help, remember, Malfoy?" Potter shot back, quite a low blow for him. Hermione looked scared; Weasley smirked; Ginny rolled her eyes; Luna gazed dreamily up at the ceiling. "If I want your advice, I'll ask for it."

"Harry," Hermione protested.

"It's all right, Granger," Draco broke in, through gritted teeth. "Far be it from me to tell the Chosen One what to do."

It took all of Draco's self-control to stop at a snide remark, to not punch Potter right in his smug face. Well, maybe Potter didn't really look "smug" – one of his most impressive characteristics, in Draco's opinion, was that Potter never gloated – but, as they stared one another down, Draco still had to fight a sudden, boiling resurgence of all the hateful feelings he'd once had for Potter.

Draco's contempt for Potter's play-it-safe strategy had less to do with his own arrogance (though that was part of it – Draco was used to getting his way) and more to do with his mounting frustration at the whole sordid situation. He hated inaction, sitting back impotently while Voldemort spun his deadly webs, going to class and doing homework and playing Quidditch like the rest of their world wasn't at war. And as more and more people in Draco's life became entangled in that web, the most recent of which was Pansy Parkinson, Draco found his nerves increasingly on edge, his anger bubbling right below the surface.

Pansy's plight had him more upset than Draco had anticipated. When he'd returned to the Slytherin common room the night before, nearly at curfew (he, Hermione, and Luna had spent hours in the library researching the Hallows), Pansy had been waiting for him, alone. She hadn't really looked any different; aside from a slightly glassy stare, she had seemed like the same old simpering Pansy.

Until she'd kissed him.

Had Draco not known Pansy was under Zabini's Imperius curse, he would still have known something was very, very different about her, because she had kissed him with a passion well beyond any of her usual timid, easily-put-off overtures. Of course, knowing now that Pansy was really using him for cover – Muggle-borns and half-breeds weren't the only people who faced prejudice in the wizarding world – Draco understood why she'd never pushed the physical part of their relationship. Under Zabini's orders to find out what Draco was up to, however, she had no choice but to obey, even if those orders were to seduce him.

When his brain recovered from the shock, Draco had taken Pansy by the shoulders and pushed her gently away. "Let a man breathe, love," he'd offered lightly, aware that she would have to report every moment of their encounter back to Zabini later.

He'd seriously considered reversing his position on murder at that point.

Undeterred, Pansy had shoved him back on one of the long couches, straddled his lap, and attacked him with a series of steamy kisses. Draco had to admit, it was hard not to be tempted; if he hadn't been so head-over-heels for Luna, and if he hadn't known Pansy wasn't acting of her own free will, he might have succumbed instead of setting her firmly aside and telling her good night.

That was the sort of dilemma Draco was facing: Every day Potter delayed, the people Draco cared about – and he did care about Pansy, if only because she was innocent in all of this and didn't deserve to be used so disgustingly – were in ever greater danger from Voldemort. As, in all honesty, was Draco himself.

Pride kept Draco from coming right out with all of that to Potter. He hated being in Potter's debt; he wasn't about to beg for him to stop stalling and _do something_ to stop Voldemort.

Silence stretched like a wire between Potter and Draco, neither of whom was willing to back down. Finally, Ginny (who had no doubt broken up many fights between her older brothers) heaved an exasperated sigh, stepped between them, and fixed Potter with a piercing stare.

"You want to call the shots, Harry, that's fine. But how do we know when we're ready?"

Nobody looked more surprised that Ginny Weasley had challenged him than Potter.

When he didn't answer, Ginny pressed, "There has to be some way of knowing. Or is Draco right? Are you just afraid of us getting hurt?"

Potter looked away. Though he was still seething, Draco felt a twinge of sympathy for Potter, always having to ask the people he cared about to face mortal peril on his behalf. Draco thought the Chosen One would have an easier time of it if he'd realize they all _wanted _to fight Voldemort, not just because Potter had to and they wanted to help him, but because they wanted to see the Dark Lord stopped – they didn't want to live in the world Voldemort hoped to create anymore than Potter did.

"The Dueling Club."

Every pair of eyes, which had been fixed on Potter, went to Luna, who, unflappable as ever, had cut through the strained silence with a dreamy, seemingly-random remark.

"What about it?" Weasley prompted, baffled.

"The tournament is in a few weeks, isn't it?" Luna asked.

"Just before the holiday, yes," Hermione answered, with more than a touch of impatience. "Why?"

"Well, most of the D.A. is in the Dueling Club," Luna pointed out, which was true: The Patil twins, Anthony Goldstein, Longbottom, Finnigan, Thomas, Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Cho Chang, Susan Bones – really, all of the sixth- and seventh-years (Snape had closed the club to anyone younger than that) had signed up. "Harry can see how everyone fights at the tournament, and then he can decide if we're ready."

Ginny seized the brilliant solution at once. "That's a great idea, Luna."

"Dueling for a class isn't going to be like facing the Death Eaters," Potter argued.

"I dunno, Harry," Weasley mused. "Zabini and his goons pretty much went all out the other evening when they attacked Luna, didn't they?"

"Ron's right," Ginny insisted. "If each of you can beat the Slytherins," she inclined her head toward Ron, Hermione, and Draco, "then that ought to be enough for you, Harry."

Draco took it as a high compliment that Ginny seemed to have momentarily forgotten he was a Slytherin, too.

"What about you and Luna?" Potter demanded of Ginny. "You offering to sit this one out?"

"Do you want to duel me?" Ginny shot back, eyes flashing. Potter wisely declined. "And I think Luna might've proven herself fighting Greyback in Draco's garden."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest, her jaw set in a stubborn line that mirrored Ginny's. "It's a good plan, Harry."

Weasley, who continued to lose to Draco in every practice duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts, added his support somewhat less enthusiastically, but he did agree. "We've got to do something, mate," he shrugged.

All eyes went to Draco, but he said nothing. His silence highlighted what an ass Potter had just been in refusing to take his advice, as Draco had meant it to.

Through gritted teeth, Potter asked, "What do you think, Malfoy?"

"I think it's a good idea," Draco replied, unable to resist adding slyly, "since you asked."

Their eyes met, and Potter grinned, looking a bit sheepish. Draco found it surprisingly easy to let go of his own rancor as he smiled back.

That was the thing about heroes, Draco reflected. Once you got to know them, it was hard not to like them.

As the spring holidays approached, Luna found herself so busy time seemed to speed up. Almost before she knew it, the day of the Dueling Club Tournament was at hand.

For weeks, the excitement around Hogwarts had been growing. Everyone wanted to see a student from their own House win, of course, but Luna also heard a lot of speculation about whether Harry would perform like the Chosen One: The entire student body, it seemed, was still keen to know if the Prophecy was true.

Not even reports of increasing murders (mostly of Muggle-borns), disappearances, werewolf attacks, and catastrophes in the Muggle world that had to be the work of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters dampened the enthusiasm around the castle as the days lengthened and grew warmer. Despite fearing for Harry's life if You-Know-Who discovered the Elder Wand, worrying about poor Pansy Parkinson being at Blaise Zabini's every whim, and studying diligently for her rapidly-approaching O.W.L.s, Luna found she was quite enjoying the school's festive, competitive atmosphere. It was almost like Quidditch every day.

Winter had finally loosened its brutal grip on Hogwarts, after one of the coldest, snowiest seasons in recent memory. Even though they were still buried under schoolwork, Harry, Hermione, Luna and Draco abandoned their couch in the library's group lounge and secured a spot by the lake for studying in the late afternoons and early evenings. Luna continued to hope for a sighting of the Giant Squid, but the black waters remained quiet day after day.

Their foursome had a new member now: Ron. Unlike Ginny, Ron didn't appear to feel like a fifth-wheel hanging out with them. That might have been because Harry and Hermione kept their distance from one another these days, almost as if Ron's presence had erected an invisible barrier between them. Harry would no longer casually drape his arm over Hermione's shoulders, and she would no longer reach out to affectionately tousle his dark hair. Yet Hermione didn't go back to fixing Ron with long, yearning stares, either – if anything, she was even more distant with him than she was with Harry, with whom she at least still enjoyed a close, warm friendship.

Luna felt sorry for them all – and for Ginny. Ginny had taken up with Dean Thomas again, but Luna didn't miss the sidelong glances she cast Harry's way during D.A. meetings. However things turned out, someone was going to get hurt.

Ron's presence also visibly annoyed Draco. Or maybe it was fairer to say they annoyed one another. Ron was careful to keep the snide comments to a minimum (for fear of Hermione Cursing him, Luna was sure), and Draco mostly pretended Ron didn't exist, though sometimes Luna could see it took all of his willpower not to say something really nasty. If Draco's temper threatened to snap – Luna could tell by the color of his eyes, shifting from sapphire to midnight-black – Luna had adopted the strategy of slapping her books shut, grabbing his hand, and pulling him along for a nice, secluded stroll on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

It was on such a day, with a cool but not unpleasant April breeze blowing the scent of rain across the castle grounds, that Draco first told Luna he loved her.

It happened to be the day before the Dueling Club tournament. Ron was grouchy; Luna suspected he was nervous, since Hermione had privately reported to her and Ginny that Draco continued to best Ron in every practice (though she added loyally that Ron had really improved). He kept snapping at every little thing Hermione or Harry said and grumping about the Potions homework for Slughorn and the upcoming Transfiguration exam for McGonagall, until Luna could feel Draco seething beside her.

"Let's take a walk," she suggested brightly, dropping her Divination textbook into her bag. She stood up and held her hand out to Draco, who, with an irritated glance at Ron, let her pull him to his feet and followed her off through the trees.

"I think I liked things better when nobody was speaking to Weasley," Draco observed, once they were out of the others' earshot.

Luna laid her head against his shoulder. "You did a nice thing, helping them become friends again."

"Did I?" Draco didn't sound so sure. "Seems to me Granger and Potter were happier when Weasley wasn't around."

"I don't think that's true." Luna well recalled how distraught both Harry and Hermione had been over Ron's estrangement; she was convinced neither of them could really be happy if Ron chose not to be their friend. "There's just things they haven't worked out yet between them."

"Like Potter and Weasley both being in love with Granger?"

Luna nodded serenely. "Yes, like that."

They were deeper into the forest now than they usually ventured. Draco suddenly stopped, picked Luna up by the waist, and set her down in the bowl of a huge old oak tree before she could do more than gasp in surprise.

Bracing his palms on the rough bark on either side of Luna's hips, Draco leaned in, slowly, his smoky gaze setting her pulse to racing, until his lips at last touched hers. It was the kind of smoldering kiss that never failed to steal Luna's breath. She linked her arms behind his neck, drawing him closer, curling her fingers in the soft blonde hair at the nape of his neck.

She wished they could never leave this spot. That they could just stay in their enchanted moment forever, like two lovers in a fairytale.

But, at last, Draco slowly pulled back. He cupped Luna's chin in his hand and stared hard into her eyes.

"I'm in love with you, you know."

He didn't whisper: He spoke the words loud and clear. Luna could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. If she hadn't already been sitting down, she thought she might have actually swooned.

In many ways, Luna wasn't so different from other girls her age. She had certainly fantasized about this moment, when Draco would utter those three, desperately-important little words. She wasn't trying to rush things; she realized she still had two years of school left. Still, she supposed every girl wanted to hear her boyfriend say what no amount of kissing could – that he loved her.

Yet Luna hadn't gotten her hopes up. She was quite confident that Draco was as crazy about her as she was about him. It was just, he wasn't really prone to emotional declarations. Because she wasn't the needy type, Luna had come to accept, without any real disappointment, the possibility that Draco might never come right out and say those three little words. In her fantasies, some circumstance would always conspire to catch him off-guard (usually this involved kissing), and the words would slip out almost without him meaning to say them.

So to have him declare his feelings so deliberately, without the slightest hint of uncertainty or embarrassment, was more perfect than anything her fantasies had prepared her for.

Although she felt wonderfully weak all over, Luna managed to say, with strength and boldness to match Draco's own voice, "And I'm in love with you back."

His smile sent Luna's already-fluttering heart into back-flips. "That works out nicely, then," he drawled, before she stopped his mouth with a kiss.

The day of the Dueling Club's tournament, a Saturday, the Great Hall was buzzing with noise like the inside of a bee-hive. The Headmaster had to magically amplify his voice to be heard over the commotion.

When the students finally settled down, Professor Dumbledore explained how the tournament would be orchestrated. "We have thirty-two contestants today, representing each of our noble Houses."

Uproarious applause broke out at that, as each table tried to shout down the other Houses. Draco, who was sitting beside Luna at the Ravenclaw table, was cheered as loudly as Padma, Cho, and Anthony Goldstein, the other Ravenclaw contestants. Terry Boot even clapped him on the back.

Once everyone calmed down again, Dumbledore continued, "Obviously, that is too great a number to hold a single duel for every student, unless we still wish to be here tomorrow morning. Thus, last night, the Heads of Houses and I randomly assigned students to an initial dueling partner.

"Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick are distributing room assignments to contestants right now," the Headmaster said, nodding at the tiny little wizard and the plump little witch with the patched hat making their way along the House tables. "For the first round of the tournament, we will have two duels, with a total of four students, in eight classrooms around the castle. Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn, Professor Sinistra, Professor Sprout, Professor Vector, and Madam Hooch will serve as judges, each in a separate classroom. Students are welcome to observe whatever match they like, but please be courteous and remain in the classroom for the entire duel.

"When the first round is finished," Dumbledore continued, as Luna peered over Draco's shoulder to see that he had been assigned to the Potions classroom, with Professor Slughorn, "the winners will return here, to the Great Hall. Dueling partners will be assigned based on where students competed in the first round. For instance, the winner from Professor McGonagall's group will face the winner from Professor Flitwick's group, and so on and so forth until our eight contestants have been whittled down to four.

"Heads of Houses will judge the second round, and our semi-finals, where four contestants will compete for a chance at the final duel."

Dumbledore paused dramatically, waiting to be sure he had everyone's attention. "I will judge the final duel."

"That's bloody complicated," Ron muttered, as he, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione made their way over to the Ravenclaw table a few minutes later, when Dumbledore had dismissed them. "Where are you going?"

Draco looked shocked that Ron was addressing him directly – and civilly. "Slughorn," Draco replied. "You?"

The relief on Ron's face explained his concern: He didn't want to face Draco in the first round. "Snape."

"Harry and I both have Flitwick," Hermione announced.

"Dean's with McGonagall," Ginny put in. "I'd better go with him. Good luck," she added, ostensibly to Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco, though Luna noticed her eyes lingered on Harry.

"I'm sorry we have to face each other the first round," Harry offered to Hermione. The two of them were walking close beside Luna and Draco in the press of students flooding out of the Great Hall.

Luna saw Hermione reach out surreptitiously and squeeze Harry's fingers. "Don't worry about it. I won't feel bad going out to the Chosen One."

Maybe Ron being back hadn't changed things so much after all.

Their group parted at the stairs, wishing one another good luck. Luna skipped ahead of Draco, smiling back at him over her shoulder.

"Are you nervous?" she asked mildly, suspecting she already knew the answer.

"Not in the slightest," he replied, with that confident smirk she couldn't help but adore. "I just hope everyone does well, so Potter doesn't have an excuse to keep waiting around."

Slughorn's classroom was crowded when they arrived. The desks had all been replaced by stadium-style bleachers; the center of the room was open, to make space for the duelers, with a raised platform to one side for the judge. Luna pecked Draco on the cheek and hurried over to take a seat by Terry, who was there to support both Padma and Draco. The room was an equal split between Ravenclaws and Slytherins, actually, as Padma and Draco (whom the Ravenclaws had basically adopted by this point, thanks to Luna) would be facing Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson.

Luna experienced a familiar pang of unease watching Pansy stare woodenly at a spot over everyone else's heads. Just looking at the poor girl wracked Luna with guilt. She knew Pansy wasn't a nice person – she had always been vile to Luna, was in fact whom Luna suspected of creating the nickname "Loony Lovegood" – but the idea of someone being completely under Blaise Zabini's control made Luna's skin crawl.

_You have to trust Draco, _she reminded herself, watching him give Padma some last-minute advice on her wand-work as Slughorn called the room to order. _He knows what he's doing. He won't let Zabini do anything to Pansy._

Except Draco didn't really know what Zabini was capable of, because Luna hadn't told him…

Jovial as ever, Slughorn informed the on-lookers that, just as the contestants had been randomly assigned to classrooms, they would also be randomly assigned partners by pulling their names out of a hat, "a really curious Muggle way of leaving things up to chance," as he put it. With a flick of his wand, Slughorn conjured a black silk top-hat in midair and dropped four slips of paper into it. Sticking one of his pudgy hands into the hat, he drew out one slip and declared, "Our first contestant is…Pansy Parkinson. And her dueling partner will be," his hand disappeared inside the hat again, "Gregory Goyle."

Draco and Padma moved off to the side while Pansy, still glassy-eyed, and Goyle arranged themselves in the center of the room. Taking the judge's platform, Slughorn announced, "The rules are simple. You may not make physical contact with your opponent; magic only is allowed. You may not use any spell that has not been approved for underage wizards or that has been forbidden at Hogwarts. To do so automatically disqualifies a contestant, and the victory will go to the opponent. The use of any Unforgivable Curse is, as always, illegal, and will result in immediate expulsion for any dueler who casts or attempts to cast one.

"The judge will determine when the duel has ended, as one contestant has either been killed – which will not happen, I assure you," he chuckled, "or forced into submission."

"What about seconds, Professor?" Padma piped up.

"Ah," Slughorn beamed at her knowledge of dueling etiquette, "for the purposes of the dueling club, opponents will not choose a second. But ten points to Ravenclaw for remembering the rules so well, Miss Patil."

Luna held her breath as Slughorn commanded Pansy and Goyle to take their bows. The moment he cried, "Commence," Pansy simply dropped her wand to her side, leaving herself wide open to Goyle's Stunning spell.

An awkward silence fell over the room. Slughorn was gaping at Pansy, sprawled on the floor, though he didn't look nearly as surprised as Goyle, who had probably never before won a contest that didn't involve his fists.

Luna felt something very close to hate for Blaise Zabini at that moment.

Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin sixth-year, hurried out of the crowd and helped Pansy to her feet. Perfectly expressionless, Pansy followed her friend over to the sidelines, oblivious to the curious stares that followed her.

Luna caught Draco's eye. He shook his head, meaning, she knew, _Nothing we can do._

Clearing his throat, Slughorn, obviously bemused, said, "Well, congratulations to Mr. Gregory Goyle, who will face the winner of our next duel. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Patil, please take your places."

Draco and Padma squared off on opposite sides of the room. Their duel was certainly more exciting than Goyle and Pansy's: A member of the D.A. for two years, Padma knew how to defend herself, and she deflected all of Draco's spells for almost ten minutes. But Luna could see her wearing down, hardly managing to fire off any jinxes or curses of her own as she danced around the jets of red and blue light issuing from Draco's wand, until at last she didn't move fast enough.

"_Incarcerous_," Draco cried. Ropes shot out the end of his wand and bound Padma head to foot. She collapsed to the floor, squealing with fear.

"We have a winner!" Slughorn shouted. He flicked his wand at Padma, murmuring, "_Diffindo_," at which point the ropes slid away from her.

The Ravenclaws burst into applause, cheering for both contestants. Draco helped Padma to her feet. "You okay?" Luna heard Draco ask her. She nodded, looking disappointed but not angry.

The duel between Goyle and Draco lasted about two minutes, just enough time for Draco to slip a Freezing Charm past the big oaf's defenses.

Luna clambered down off the bleachers. Draco caught her around the waist, lifting her feet off the ground as he hugged her. She laughed.

"How'd I look out there?" he whispered in her ear.

"Like a hero," Luna whispered back, meaning it.

They made their way back down to the Great Hall, which was virtually empty as Slughorn's group, thanks to Pansy's unspectacular performance and Draco's short work with Goyle, had finished before anyone else. Most of the on-lookers had drifted off to other classrooms to watch the rest of the first round, but Luna could tell Draco wanted some time to prepare. The Great Hall had been rearranged with stadium-style bleachers, too; Luna and Draco sat quietly in the first row, holding hands, content just to be together.

After a while, other students started drifting in. Parvati and Padma made their way over to where Luna and Draco sat. "I won against Ernie," Parvati informed them proudly. "And Neville beat Dean. He beat me, too." She didn't sound upset by that in the least, Luna noted. In fact, she beamed as she reported, "Draco, you should have seen his Shield charm – it was so good, Professor McGonagall made him do it again after the duel was over."

Draco grinned. He and Parvati had a special connection, seeing as how she'd been the first member of the D.A. brave enough to approach Whiskers. "Longbottom's all right," he allowed. "How'd everybody else do?"

As it turned out, Draco needn't have worried about the D.A. performing well: With the exception of Zacharias Smith, every D.A. member who had been paired against someone not in Dumbledore's Army had won their duel. Hermione had beaten Seamus but then, predictably, had lost to Harry, who had first faced Crabbe ("It was a massacre," Hermione reported happily of that match-up). From what Ginny, Susan (who had lost to Ron), Hermione, and the Creevey brothers all said, the duels between D.A. members had been so impressive the teachers had ended up awarding House points even to the losers.

All told, it was not a good day for Slytherin House. Draco (whom Luna no longer thought of as belonging to Slytherin, in any sense that mattered) had bested Goyle, Harry had destroyed Crabbe, Ron had put down Theodore Nott, Lavender Brown had won against Montague, and Cho Chang had taken down Harper. Only Zabini had won his duel, against Zacharias Smith.

"It was ugly," Colin Creevey reported, shaking his head. "Madam Hooch threatened to take points from Slytherin House for 'unsportsmanlike conduct.'"

"What'd he do?" Harry, who had joined them shortly after the Patil twins, demanded, glancing around darkly for Zabini.

"He called up a snake," Colin replied, "and Smith sort of…freaked out. Madam Hooch called the duel, but Zabini just kept at it, making the snake chase him 'round the room."

The D.A. as a unit glared at Zabini where he was being fawned over by practically every Slytherin girl on the other side of the Hall – except Pansy and the sprightly little dark-haired Johanna Evanston, Luna noted, who were sitting quietly on the bleachers nearest the door. Johanna had her hand on Pansy's arm, gazing at the taller girl so sadly Luna's own happy little bubble threatened to burst.

Pansy just stared fixedly at a spot on the floor, seemingly oblivious to everything around her.

"He'll get his," Ron vowed of Zabini, actually cracking his knuckles.

The eight contestants for the second round were Neville, Harry, Draco, Ron, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Lavender, Cho, and Zabini. Dumbledore called them all down to the front, along the teacher's platform, and paired them by classroom for the match-ups: Neville versus Harry, Ron versus Justin, Cho versus Lavender, and Draco versus Zabini.

Luna nearly lost her grip on her trademark serenity when Dumbledore announced the final pair. Pivoting slowly, Zabini raked his gaze over the crowd; spotting Luna, he caught her eye and winked.

Luna shuddered.

The second-round duels were held two at a time, with two Heads of Houses judging each match-up. The first pairings were Neville and Harry, judged by Snape and McGonagall, and Lavender and Cho, judged by Sprout and Flitwick. Luna, Ginny, and Hermione moved to the bleachers closest to Harry and Neville.

Seated in the middle, Hermione reached out and took Luna's hand. Her palm was like ice. "It'll be okay," Luna whispered to her, too softly for Ginny (who had eyes only for Harry, even as Dean draped his arm around her shoulders) to hear. "Harry's a very powerful wizard, you know."

"I'm more worried about what happens next," Hermione murmured back, cutting her eyes to the front of the Hall, where Draco, Ron and Justin had moved as far away from Zabini as was humanly possible.

Neville and Harry's duel was a lot of fun to watch. Luna would always have a soft spot in her heart for Neville; he'd been a wonderful friend to her, especially the year before when she'd first joined the D.A. and everyone besides Harry had seemed a little put-off by her ethereal calm. Suppressing a giggle, she remembered how she'd thought, at the beginning of the year, Neville had been behind the note Draco had sent her on the Hogwarts Express.

How surprising life could be, Luna reflected.

Harry ended up winning, managing to slip a Body-Bind curse around Neville's defenses, but Neville did so well even Snape applauded politely for him. At the other end of the room, Lavender and Cho were fairly evenly matched. Cho won with a Leg-Locker curse, though only after narrowly side-stepping one of Lavender's Stunning spells.

At the front of the Hall, Luna saw Ron starting to look a little green. Harry, Neville, Cho and Lavender clambered up into the stands to sit beside their friends as Dumbledore called for the remaining four contestants in the second round to take their places.

"You'll be great, Ron!" Harry shouted down to his friend, adding in a quick aside to Hermione, "You sure I shouldn't have slipped him a little Felix Felicis?"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Harry, that's illegal in competitions," she reminded him sternly.

"Yeah, 'cause we've never broken the law," Harry rejoined, causing Ginny to giggle.

Luna was too worried about Draco to pay much attention to anything else, even though she felt sorry for Ron, who had turned a curious shade of yellowish-olive – he never seemed able to believe in himself no matter how well he did, she noted sympathetically. But Ron would have to make do with Hermione, Ginny and Harry cheering for him, because Luna's attention was fixed at the other end of the room.

With her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Luna watched Draco and Zabini, supervised by Flitwick and Sprout, bow to one another. She was vaguely aware that she had a death-grip on Hermione's hand, but as Hermione returned the pressure with equal force, Luna knew she wasn't the only one who was frightened of what might happen.

_There are teachers here. Surely they won't let anything really bad happen…_

Recalling the hateful way Zabini had glared up at Draco after he'd had his nose broken, Luna found it hard to be sure of that.

"Commence!" Flitwick squeaked, and Zabini and Draco's duel began.

It was obvious who the better wizard was. Luna began to relax almost at once as Draco danced easily around Zabini's spells, toying with his opponent. Zabini wasn't totally without talent, of course: He managed to block everything Draco sent his way, although Luna got the impression Draco wasn't trying his hardest. She had a feeling she knew why. Draco didn't want his Housemates to know he'd really changed sides, and making a fool out of Zabini wasn't likely to earn him many points with his fellow Slytherins, who expected House loyalty above all else.

For once, she wished Draco would stop plotting and just finish Zabini, before anything could go wrong.

"Yes!" Ginny hissed from the other side of Hermione.

Luna chanced a look at her, startled. Smiling apologetically, Ginny whispered, "Sorry – Ron just won."

It was in the second Luna turned away that it happened.

"_Sectumsempra_!"

A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Luna watched Draco freeze, his eyes widening in shock, as blood spurted from his chest and stomach. He gave one wrenching cry of pain, and then, as if in slow motion, crumpled to the ground.

A large, dark pool of blood began to spread around him.

"Move." That was Snape, shoving Ron and Justin aside, stalking down the Great Hall with his black robes billowing around him. He looked angrier than Luna had ever seen the former Potions professor; his coal-black gaze was fixed on Zabini. The dark-eyed boy shrank from Snape's fury, hastily lowering his wand.

Snape knelt beside Draco, who lay in a motionless heap with his head turned toward the crowd. With his sapphire eyes closed so that his long lashes rested softly on his bone-white cheeks and his sleek blonde hair spilling across his brow, Draco looked terribly young, and so vulnerable Luna's heart threatened to break.

Deftly, Snape moved his wand over Draco's blood-soaked chest and stomach in a slow, gentle arc. "_Vulnera Sanatur_," he murmured, once, twice, three times, in a lilting, melodic whisper that carried throughout the silent Great Hall.

Slowly, the blood receded, as if it were being drawn back into Draco's wounds.

Luna wasn't aware she had risen to her feet until she felt heads starting to turn in her direction. She didn't care; they could stare all they wanted. She was focused on only one person in that room, and that was Draco.

Who, to a whooshing sigh of relief that swept round the Great Hall, finally blinked his eyes open.

"Go," Hermione whispered to Luna, as the murmuring in the room rose to a chatter. "Go to him."

Not needing to be told twice, Luna stepped gracefully along the rows of bleachers until she had made her way to the front of the room. She hesitated beside Professor McGonagall, hovering beside Snape with a look of mingled horror and outrage that reflected Luna's own emotions.

"Oh, Miss Lovegood." McGonagall jumped when she realized Luna was standing next to her. "I-I think he's going to be all right, really. Poppy…?"

Nurse Pomfrey caught Luna's wrist and pulled her forward with her. "He needs Dittany," the nurse informed her colleagues, all business. "Let's get him to the hospital wing, shall we? You can come with me, dear," she added kindly to Luna. "I'll need help treating his wounds so they don't scar."  
Flitwick conjured a stretcher to take Draco to the hospital wing. Reaching his hand over the edge, Draco waved his fingers weakly at the crowd. Led by the Headmaster, the entire room – even many of the Slytherins – burst into applause.

As they hurried from the Hall, Luna saw Dumbledore and Snape approaching Zabini. In spite of her normally forgiving nature, Luna hoped the Headmaster showed no mercy.

Later, Draco woke up in the silent hospital wing, blinking as his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

The pain that had sliced through him like a knife when Zabini's spell had hit him was gone, Draco noted with relief. Yet he still felt…weak. Like he was in the midst of running a marathon and his muscles were giving out.

Rolling gingerly onto his side, he smiled to find a figure slumped in the chair beside his bed, clearly asleep.

"Luna?" he called hoarsely.

The figure stirred and sat up. "No," a thick-sleep voice replied. "It's me."

Draco thought he must be still dreaming, but he wasn't: Harry Potter was really holding vigil at his bedside.

"I told Luna to go get some rest," Potter explained, speaking quietly so as not to wake Nurse Pomfrey. "She'd been up here all evening. I thought she could use the sleep."

Though he would rather have enjoyed Luna's tender ministrations than Potter's, Draco was glad Potter had sent her off to rest. There was no need for her to make herself sick watching over him; he was fine, obviously, or he'd be at St. Mungo's.

Slowly, Draco pushed into a sitting position, wincing as a sharp pain ran down his ribs. He cast a cursory glance over himself, noting that all body parts seemed to be intact. In the silver glow of moonlight, even the scars criss-crossing his bare chest didn't look all that severe.

"You need anything?"

Potter sounded as uncomfortable playing nurse-maid as Draco felt being his ward. "I'm fine."

A short, awkward silence ensued, broken by Draco asking with real curiosity, "So who won?"

From the modest shrug Potter gave, Draco had his answer. Not that he'd ever really doubted who would win in the end.

"After they took you up here," Potter began, "Dumbledore disqualified Zabini from the tournament. Whatever that spell was he used on you, it's one that's been banned at Hogwarts, apparently."

Draco dimly recalled Slughorn saying that the use of any banned spell would result in forfeiture of the match.

"Snape was really furious," Potter continued. "He didn't even stay to watch the rest of the tournament. He took Zabini straight out of there, to his office."

_Maybe he fed Zabini to Voldemort's giant snake, one piece at a time…_

"And?" Draco prompted, finding he was actually more interested in the outcome of the tournament than Zabini's punishment. "Then what happened?"

"Then Dumbledore drew our names out of a hat again, and I ended up dueling Cho…"

"And you won," Draco deduced, like there was any question about that. He was impatient for Potter to get to the main event, to offer up a blow-by-blow of the final round, but a moment later, with a sinking feeling, he realized who had ended up being the last contestants standing.

Potter and Weasley.

"Oh," Draco said, frowning.

Seeing where Draco's thoughts were going, Potter grinned. "It wasn't so bad. Ron's actually really good, when he stops being so hard on himself. He nearly took me out with that Stinging jinx you taught us." Potter displayed a swollen red welt on his left wrist. "Blocked it just before it hit me full in the face."

Draco couldn't quite bring himself to be pleased that Weasley had done well at anything, though he was glad the Dueling Club hadn't resulted in another Potter-Weasley feud.

"So how'd you end it?"

"_Expelliarmus._" Potter's empty hands mimicked the wand motion that accompanied the Disarming spell.

Draco arched an eyebrow. Leave it to Potter to go for the pacifist win. In a way, he supposed that was admirable; it wasn't like Draco advocated violence for the sake of violence, the way some of his Housemates – notably Zabini – did. Yet he couldn't help wondering what Potter would do when faced with someone, like Zabini, who wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

_He survived against Voldemort, _Draco's inner voice reminded him. _Apparently by using that very spell._

Maybe Potter's way had some wisdom to it after all.

"Well, I guess…Congratulations." Draco was pleased that he found those words so easy to say. He realized that he didn't even really care that Potter had won; in fact, he was glad, as it would give everyone at Hogwarts who wanted to stand up against Voldemort yet another reason to believe in the Chosen One.

Potter, never one to gloat, admitted, "I'd sort of expected it'd end up being me and you there at the last."

Draco, who more readily embraced his own arrogance, smirked. "So did I."

In fact, Draco had played that little scene out in his mind many times over the past few weeks. He'd watched Potter closely in their D.A. meetings and in the practice duels in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a better wizard than just about anyone Draco had ever seen – including his Aunt Bella, who could hands-down beat probably any wizard alive besides Voldemort and Dumbledore. Draco knew he didn't have that kind of skill. Still, a part of him had been looking forward to testing his mettle against Potter's, having a chance, even if it was a small chance, of winning.

A chance to show the entire school that Draco Malfoy's cunning was worth quite as much as Harry Potter's innate talent. To go down in Hogwarts history as the one who had beaten The Boy Who Lived, fair and square.

But another part of Draco, perhaps the bigger part these days, had been dreading the match-up. It would only have served to remind everyone – including Draco – of the enmity that had once existed between the two of them.

Not entirely sure why he felt compelled to be so honest (other than the fact that Potter was sleeping in the hospital wing to keep watch over him, which was something a friend might do), Draco admitted, "I'm glad it didn't turn out like that, honestly."

"Yeah," Potter confessed, suddenly becoming very interested in a corner of Draco's blanket. "I think maybe we've had enough of fighting each other."

That was probably as close as Potter would ever come to calling him a friend. Still, Draco decided, it was probably more than he deserved.

Clearing his throat, Potter quickly changed the subject – which suited Draco fine, since the atmosphere was getting a bit more intimate than he cared for when it came to sharing time with his former nemesis.

"I thought you should know, I had an owl from Fred and George yesterday morning." Potter waited a beat, drawing out the suspense. "They did it. They stole the cabinet."

Draco forgot about the pain in his chest and stomach. "Brilliant." A triumphant smile spread across his face; if Hermione had been in the room, he would have hugged her for her cleverness. "I knew they could."

Potter, however, didn't look nearly so pleased.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco sat up straight, staring hard at Potter, who flushed and averted his gaze. "Look, Potter, I heard about how well everyone in the D.A. did today. If you make this about me losing to Zabini…"

Unable to think of a sufficiently terrifying threat that he could actually carry out in his present wounded condition, Draco let his voice trail off.

Reluctantly, Potter muttered, "No, you're right. We're as ready as we're ever going to be, I guess."

A moment later, he lifted his anguished gaze to Draco's face. "Can we really do this?"

Draco tensed. He wasn't used to Potter treating him like a confidante; he wasn't sure if his honest opinion or a sugar-coated version was wanted.

"You want the truth?"

Potter didn't hesitate. "Yes. I want the truth."

"I don't know, Potter," Draco told him honestly. "The truth is, Blaise Zabini almost killed me today, and he's not nearly as bad as the people we'll have to face to get Ollivander out."

Draco watched his words sink in, watched Potter's conviction waiver. Then he added simply, "But we have to try."

"No." Potter shook his head. "I could do it myself. There has to be a way. I can't keep putting everyone else in danger."

"You think I'm doing this for _you_?" Draco shook his head, glaring fiercely at Potter, who looked taken aback. "You think Corner and Smith are learning how to fight Death Eaters so they can save your precious skin? Come off it, Potter. Not everybody worships you like Granger and Weasley."

Firing up at that, Potter protested, "I never said I wanted to be worshipped – "

"Then stop acting like we're all your bloody disciples," Draco snapped. "Voldemort has to be stopped. It wouldn't matter to me if there wasn't a Chosen One at all. I'd still be fighting. And so would everybody else."

In the long, weighty silence that followed, Draco watched Potter consider, apparently for the first time, the possibility that he couldn't be held personally responsible for every single person who decided to stand up against Voldemort.

Finally, Potter declared grimly, "It's still dangerous. I don't want to involve anyone else who isn't already involved – I want it to just be me, you, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna."

Draco didn't argue. This, after all, was Potter's show, because he _was _the Chosen One.

"We'll go as soon as you're able."

"I'll be good as new in no time," Draco promised, meaning it. He didn't intend to be the one who held them up now that Potter was finally prepared to act.

For the moment, though, Draco knew he needed to rest. He still felt incredibly weak. Falling back on his pillows and closing his eyes, he observed dryly, "I heard you beat Granger."

"I don't think her heart was really in it," Potter mused, settling back in his chair.

Draco turned his next words over in his mind, wondering if he wouldn't do better just to mind his own business. Deciding he didn't have anything to lose, since he and Potter technically weren't friends, Draco went for it.

"You know, Potter, there's a real chance we might not make it out of this alive. So if there's anything you need to say to anyone…"

Though his eyes were closed, Draco could hear the grin in Potter's voice as he shot back, "Did I ask for your advice, Malfoy?"

Smiling a little himself, Draco agreed, "No. No, you didn't."

He let his weary body relax then, feeling happier than he supposed was strictly rational given the danger that still lay ahead.

In a few days' time, ready or not, they would face the Death Eaters.

**End Part One: Part Two is coming soon!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Part Two**

Chapter Twenty-One: All In

The next day, Draco ended up with so many visitors from the D.A. that Nurse Pomfrey finally ordered everyone out – even Luna. "He needs rest," the nurse insisted, taking Luna firmly by the elbow and steering her to the door. "You can come back tomorrow, dear."

Luna blew Draco a kiss from the doorway. He waved. Much as he hated to see her go, he had to admit, he did feel better when he wasn't trying to put on a brave face for anybody, pretending a strength he didn't yet feel.

And so it was that Draco was alone when his mother finally came to see him.

Since Christmas, Draco had not received a single owl from home. He knew his mother couldn't set down in a letter where his father was (Draco assumed Lucius was at Malfoy Manor, since with Thicknesse under the Imperius Curse, the Ministry was unlikely to raid the Malfoy's home) or how he was faring, in case some enterprising Order of the Phoenix member at the Ministry (like Arthur Weasley or Mad-Eye Moody) happened to intercept her owl. But she could have at least let him know that _she _was all right.

Stubbornly, Draco hadn't written to her, either. The silence had gnawed at him; he and his mother had once been prolific pen-pals. Every school year, he'd looked forward to his mother's newsy notes and thoughtful gifts, like Sugar Quills and warm dragonskin gloves, each post-day, and he'd spent hours detailing life at Hogwarts for her.

Now, watching Narcissa stalk purposefully toward his bed, her curtain of silver-blonde hair pinned into a severe-looking bun on top of her head, Draco felt very small, very mean, and very guilty for not giving more thought to what his mother might be suffering. He couldn't help noting the new lines around her mouth, the dark circles under her ice-blue eyes, and the tautness to her pretty face – all suggesting months of sleepless nights.

Snape followed his mother into the hospital wing, stopping by the door to whisper with Nurse Pomfrey. The nurse frowned in disapproval – she obviously thought Draco had seen enough excitement for one day – but reluctantly subsided to her office, allowing them privacy.

Narcissa stopped at the foot of Draco's bed. "Are you all right?" she asked, managing to sound supremely indifferent about her son's well-being.

Snape came to hover behind her, looking grim. Seeing as how that was the Head of Slytherin House's typical expression, Draco didn't read much into it.

"I'm fine. They didn't need to call you here."

The words sounded so petulant to his own ears Draco nearly succumbed to a blush. If only she wouldn't regard him so coldly, if only she would act like the loving, doting mother he'd had for sixteen years, he wouldn't have been reduced to behaving like a two-year-old in response.

Holding herself rigidly, Narcissa replied crisply, "Severus contacted me because he was concerned. It seems one of your classmates has gotten the idea that you're on a mission for the Dark Lord."

Ah, so that was it: She wasn't here because he'd nearly been sliced in two; she was here because Snape had talked to Zabini after the disastrous duel, and Zabini had let on that Draco was bragging about being given a special assignment by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Narcissa was there to determine if Draco had betrayed Voldemort by revealing his orders to kill Dumbledore.

Draco met his mother's gaze unflinchingly, refusing to show how much it hurt that she wasn't there simply to check on him after his injury. "I haven't told Blaise Zabini or anyone else in Slytherin House what the Dark Lord asked me to do," he rejoined, with perfect honesty – Potter was the only person Draco had revealed the particulars of his mission to, and he knew his mother didn't suspect her brand-new Death Eater son of that sort of treachery.

"If you don't believe me, have him question me." Draco nodded toward Snape, the most accomplished Legilimens he knew outside of Voldemort.

And if Draco could fool Voldemort, he figured he could keep Snape's extraordinarily long nose out of his damning memories, even in his presently weakened condition.

But Narcissa waved away that suggestion, as if it were unthinkable for Draco to lie to her. Or maybe she'd never believed he would run his mouth off in the first place, because she went on, "I don't doubt your loyalty. I'm here because Severus believes you are in danger. That someone is trying to interfere with your mission here at Hogwarts."

Well, they were right about that – and whoever it was, they were using Zabini for that purpose, to very good effect.

"I want to take you home."

Draco couldn't have been more shocked if Narcissa had declared her intention to adopt Potter. Looking from his mother, to Snape, and back to Narcissa, he stammered, "But I – my orders – I couldn't possibly – "

"Your orders can be carried out by someone else," Narcissa tabled firmly.

For one wild second, Draco thought she meant Zabini. Then he realized that was ridiculous: Zabini would have as much chance against Dumbledore as a bluebird had against the Whomping Willow.

He narrowed his eyes, realizing the only other logical person at Hogwarts who could carry off the mission of murdering Albus Dumbledore was in that very room with them.

"You mean Professor Snape."

Snape, who no doubt knew Dumbledore was already dying, and what Dumbledore had asked Draco to do. Snape, who had saved Draco's life less than twenty-four hours ago when he was bleeding to death in the Great Hall.

Snape, who hated Harry Potter more than anything in the world. Snape, whose loyalties remained a mystery to Draco.

"The Dark Lord values you, Draco," Snape put in silkily now, coming around to stand beside Draco. Narcissa continued to regard Draco with the same polite disinterest she might have shown a house-elf, remaining fixed at the foot of his bed.

"I believe he can be persuaded that you would be of more use to him in other ways, now that you have proven your loyalty to him so convincingly." Snape rested the tips of his fingers on the back of Draco's left wrist, subtly referring to the Dark Mark beneath his green pajamas.

Draco was torn. Lying there weak and weary from Zabini's attack, he suddenly hated everything his life had become. He hated having to worry, every minute of every day, about being caught in his own lies. He hated lying awake at night, trying to stave off nightmares of Greyback leaping out of the darkness to savage Luna. He hated watching Zabini use Pansy so vilely, just to get at him. He hated tolerating Weasley so he could be part of Potter's in-crowd. He hated being scared, all the time, for himself, for his parents, for Luna, for Potter, for Granger, even for Dumbledore.

Draco missed his old life, when everything had been easy, when the privilege of being Lucius Malfoy's son had opened every door that needed opening, when his parents' wealth had solved every problem that needed solving. And here was Snape, offering him a way out – a chance to walk away, free and clear, with the Dark Lord's blessing.

A chance to have his life back the way it had been before his sixteenth birthday in June, when Voldemort had turned up with the mission that had so drastically altered the course of Draco's life.

_There's no going back, _a small voice inside Draco's heart warned. _You can walk away, but you can't go back._

The flicker of hope his mother's words – _"I want to take you home" _– had kindled in Draco's soul sputtered and died.

If he left Hogwarts now, sooner or later (probably sooner), Dumbledore would die, either from the Curse already at work in him or by Snape's hand. However it happened, Voldemort would then come to power opposed by no one other than an underage wizard with a curious scar and a tragic history – or at least that was how most people would perceive it, since the Order of the Phoenix would become irrelevant upon its founder Dumbledore's defeat. The Ministry would fall entirely into the Death Eater's hands, Snape would assume control of Hogwarts for the Dark Lord, Voldemort would find the Elder Wand, and Potter and anyone who stood with him would die.

Draco could see that future taking shape, as clearly as if he were gazing into one of Trelawney's crystal balls. If he left now, he would survive. But he would never be free. So long as Voldemort lived, Draco would be sworn to his service. For the first time, Draco really, truly understood what the Dark Mark on his arm meant.

Enslavement.

"This is for the best, Draco." Narcissa's quiet voice interrupted Draco's dark reverie. She moved to his side then, clasping his hand in hers, her frigid exterior finally thawing the tiniest bit. "You can't hope to succeed. Let Severus do this task."

"Mother," Draco started, trying to find the words to explain all he had just realized – to make her understand that he had to fight, even if fighting meant dying.

Tears sparkled in Narcissa's eyes. "Come home to me, please."

It took all of Draco's carefully-cultivated self-control to deny his mother in that moment.

"I can't."

"You little fool!" Practically spitting at him, Narcissa dropped Draco's hand as if his touch had burned her. For an instant, the intensity of her sudden fury made her appear almost as deranged as her sister; Draco cringed, expecting her to strike him, though she had never raised a hand to him in his entire life.

Instead, Narcissa snapped her icy reserve back into place. Seizing his left wrist so roughly Draco winced, she shoved the sleeve of his pajama-shirt up to his elbow and stabbed a sharp fingernail into the center of Voldemort's brand.

"Do you know what this means?" she demanded, a bead of blood appearing beneath her fingertip as she pressed her nail hard into his skin. Draco refused to flinch; he held her gaze defiantly. "Do you think it's a badge of honor? It means you've sworn yourself to the Dark Lord's service, for the rest of his life or yours. And if you think you can keep that sort of vow and not become a monster yourself," Narcissa concluded acidly, "you're just like your father – a stupid, arrogant child."

Her words settled heavily over Draco, a dark cloud of doom. The truth was, he hadn't considered what taking the Dark Mark would require of him; he was sixteen, after all, and seeing far into the future, gaining some perspective on the man he might become, was difficult. But he sensed the truth of his mother's words. In fact, he could see Voldemort's influence at work on him already: the way he'd attacked Zabini for hurting Luna, his decision to let Pansy suffer under the Imperius Curse because it served his purposes better than freeing her, the rage that had made him want to murder Zabini in the Room of Hidden Things. Since Christmas, Draco had chalked his sudden, blinding bursts of anger up to frayed nerves; he'd attributed his increasing ability to shut down his emotions, to do what was needed rather than what was necessarily right, to his growing skill as an Occlumens.

Viewed in the light of his mother's outburst, however, he suspected that something else was at work: In swearing himself to Voldemort, Draco had bound his soul to a force so pervasively evil, it corrupted everything it touched.

Draco glanced at Snape, standing cold and imperious on the other side of his bed. Even if Snape really was fighting against the Dark Lord – and Draco thought that remained an open question – the former Potions master was clearly miserable, plainly consumed by hatred. All those times he'd mistreated Potter, supposedly because Potter's dad had been foul to Snape in school, took on a whole new context when seen through the lens of a lifetime's service to Voldemort.

Become the monster to kill the monster. Was that Draco's choice?

_Well, so be it. I never was the hero of this tale anyway._

Drawing his wrist out of his mother's grasp, Draco declared flatly, his tone brooking no further argument, "I'm not leaving here until I finish what I've started."

Narcissa's eyes flashed. "And if you die trying?"

"Then I die."

Narcissa's face settled into its familiar, emotionless mask. With only a trace of bitterness, she shrugged, "I'll tell your father. He'll be so proud."

With her nose in the air, Narcissa stalked out.

Snape lingered, his eyes following Narcissa. Into the short, distinctly uncomfortable silence that followed, he offered softly, "She made me swear to protect you, with my own life."

Draco was admittedly astonished by that. Not that his mother had tried to arrange a protector for him – that was classic Narcissa, scheming behind the scenes, a trait Draco had inherited – but that Snape would agree to the role. He'd never imagined Snape actually cared about him; rather, Draco had assumed that Snape showed him preferential treatment because it annoyed Potter.

Still, Snape's vow didn't change anything about Draco's situation. "I never asked for your help," Draco pointed out simply, refusing to be guilted into questioning his conviction.

With a slight nod, Snape acknowledged the truth of that. "No, you never have. But I could be of help to you, Draco, if you tell me what you're really up to with Potter."

Draco remained silent. Vow or no vow, he wasn't convinced he could trust Snape. Seeing that Draco didn't intend to answer, Snape went on smoothly, "Then should I tell the Headmaster that you've made your decision?"

A cold knot of fear settled in Draco's stomach. He kept hoping to put off his answer to Dumbledore, believing that if he and Potter could only work fast enough, the Headmaster's plans for both of them, whatever those were, might be unnecessary.

_It could still happen, _he promised himself. _If you rescue Ollivander and he knows where the Elder Wand is, you can get it for Potter – and then he can defeat Voldemort, once and for all._

Because that was what Draco had decided to do: Find the Elder Wand before Voldemort and tip the scales of destiny in Potter's favor once and for all. With that done, Dumbledore wouldn't need Draco to set himself up as Voldemort's protégé at Hogwarts. He wouldn't need Draco to carry out his ghastly mission. Dumbledore could die like any old man, in his bed, surrounded by the many people who loved him, kept comfortable by the skilled hands of the Healers at St. Mungo's.

Clinging to that hope, however tenuous it might have been, was what gave Draco the courage to reply, "Tell him that if it comes to that, I'm his man."

The next afternoon, Nurse Pomfrey declared Draco well enough to return to his House. "Keep using the Dittany a few more days, dear, and the scars should fade altogether," she advised. Draco thanked her and promised to be more careful in the future, as he did every time he ended up in the hospital wing.

It was early evening on a Monday. The corridors were empty; the students were still at supper. Draco considered going to the Great Hall but decided he wasn't up to facing a throng of curious students just yet. He would wait and catch Luna on her own later, rather than make a grand entrance. Meanwhile, he veered up the stairs toward the Room of Hidden Things, finding that he wanted just a little more time alone to sort through the tangle of emotions his mother's visit had created in him.

Moving along silently, Draco was surprised when he stepped onto the seventh-floor corridor and spotted Hermione and Weasley at the entrance to the Room of didn't seem to have heard his approach. On instinct, Draco slipped behind a suit of armor and crouched down, straining to hear their conversation.

"…go without us," Hermione was saying.

"You really think so?" Weasley sounded doubtful. "I know he'll put up a fuss about us coming, but d'ya really think he'd try to give us the slip?"

"You know Harry hates putting any of us in danger. We should've gone after Ollivander weeks ago, when we first found out about the Elder Wand. He's stalling because he's worried about us."

Weasley didn't argue with that. "I'll keep an eye out," he promised.

Draco was consumed by curiosity. Where would Potter be heading off to that he wouldn't take his two sidekicks? Could it have anything to do with his private lessons with Dumbledore?

In the next moment, he had an answer – sort of.

"Ron, you have to do more than 'keep an eye out.' Harry can't go hunting Horcruxes by himself."

Whatever a Horcrux was.

"So you can't go making waves about Draco," Hermione continued sternly. "Even if Harry asks him to come along. Understood?"

Weasley made a strangled, choking kind of noise that warmed Draco's heart. He loved to annoy Weasley.

"Ron," Hermione intoned, a note of warning in her voice.

"All right, all right." From the sound of it, Weasley was gritting his teeth. "If Harry wants Malfoy to come, I'll-I'll be okay with it."

Draco was just starting to wonder how he would avoid being seen as Weasley and Hermione walked by, since their conversation seemed to be at an end, when Weasley called out, "Hey, Hermione, hold up a sec, will ya?"

Peering around the suit of armor, Draco saw Weasley catch Hermione's hand and turn her around to face him.

Draco's eyes narrowed. _Back off, Weasley, _he thought darkly, _if you like that hand being attached to your wrist…_

"Listen, I, uh, I wanted to, you know…" Weasley was blushing, staring at the ground; Hermione's spine was rod-straight. "I wanted to apologize to you, for the thing with Lavender. It was…"

"Disgusting?" Hermione supplied coolly.

Draco bit down on his lip to keep from laughing. _Way to go, Hermione. No mercy._

In the next moment, however, Hermione back-pedaled. "Ron, I didn't mean – you're not disgusting."

Weasley silenced her by placing a finger against her lips. Draco barely suppressed a retching sound.

"I'm a stupid, arrogant, foul git, is what I am," Weasley responded, his voice husky. "But if you give me a chance, I swear I won't treat you like that, ever again."

_I can't believe I'm rooting for Potter in this, _Draco thought, even as he willed Hermione to slap Weasley across the face. _But at least Potter is…well, at least he's not Weasley, anyway._

Apparently, Hermione didn't feel the same.

Weasley slipped his hand into her hair, drawing her closer. Instead of shoving him away, Hermione just stood frozen as his lips descended toward hers.

Having absolutely no desire to watch Weasley snog Hermione, Draco snuck back down the stairs as fast as he could without making any noise. He was surprised by how angry he was with them both. Rationally, Draco knew Hermione had every right to be with anyone she chose – even Weasley; it wasn't like either of them had been spoken for. Yet he still felt like they were betraying Potter.

Wasn't being the Chosen One lonely enough without Weasley stealing Potter's girl (or the girl he clearly wanted, anyway) out from under his nose?

_Maybe Potter wants it this way. Maybe there's a reason he never made a move with Hermione – or Ginny, for that matter._

_Maybe he's a better man than you. Maybe he loves people enough to do what's best for them: Let them walk away._

Rounding the corner that led to the library's study lounge, where Draco knew he would find Luna as soon as supper was finished, Draco's steps slowed. He drifted over to the windows overlooking the castle grounds, bathed now in the last rays of a golden spring sunset.

From what Hermione had said, Draco could deduce that Dumbledore had assigned Potter some kind of secret mission. Something to do with a "Horcrux," which certainly sounded like dark magic of one stripe or another. And hunting those was apparently so dangerous, Potter's two best friends were worried about him taking off on his own to find them. But even if he weren't striking out on some perilous mission, Potter was endangering everyone in his life just by being alive – and he knew it.

Draco's position wasn't really all that different from Potter's, in some respects. He, too, was fighting Voldemort, courting death with every blow he attempted to strike against the Dark Lord. And if his treachery ever became known, Draco knew it would cost him not just his own life but the lives of his family and anyone else the Dark Lord believed to be important to him – like Luna.

Thus far, that knowledge hadn't been sufficient to make Draco walk away from Luna, even though he knew he probably should. But what his mother had said, about the Dark Mark changing him, and what Dumbledore wanted him to do, to become a murderer and Voldemort's heir…Was that a journey he wanted to take Luna on with him? Would it be better for her if he ended it now, rather than waiting until he either had truly become a monster or at the very least had to let her believe that he'd become one, if he had to end up killing Dumbledore?

Did he love her enough to let her go?

Luna was dreaming of her mother.

She knew she was dreaming, but that didn't make the dream less powerful. She was walking along the high cliff that overlooked the river near her father's rook-like house; the trees were bright with purple-and-pink blossoms, the ground strewn with yellow and blue stones. Luna breathed deeply, drinking in the distant scent of the river below and the closer bouquet of honeysuckle and lilac.

A unicorn danced through the trees ahead of her. Luna smiled, knowing she was close now to the little shaded valley where her mother had once housed the many wonderful beings that had come to her for Healing.

That has been Luna's mother's gift: Healing magical creatures.

Sure enough, Luna's dream-self stepped around a large willow and there was her mother, kneeling beside the young unicorn while she magically removed a stone from its hoof.

Eostara Lovegood was as beautiful as the starlight she was named for. At first glance, mother and daughter didn't bear much resemblance: Eostara was tall and willowy, where Luna was short and slight; the older woman's waist-length hair was raven-black and silky-straight, where Luna's was honey-blonde and curly. Yet upon closer examination, anyone could see that they were mother and daughter: They had the same topaz eyes, the same dreamy smile, the same heart-shaped face.

"Hello, Mum," Luna greeted her mother lightly. She knew her mother was dead, even in her dream, but Luna wasn't frightened. "I've been missing you."

"I've been right here, love. Right where you left me," Eostara answered in her musical voice. It wasn't exactly like Luna's – Eostara's voice was like chimes, while Luna's was more like bells – but it had the same breathy quality.

"I have so much to tell you." Luna placed a hand on the young unicorn's flank; the lovely beast tossed its head happily, stomping its healed hoof. "I've met a boy."

Luna's mother stood up, smiling. "I know. I've been watching you."

Eostara held out the stone she had just pulled from the unicorn's hoof and handed it to Luna, who took it in her outstretched palm. She smiled: It was a small lime-green stone, shaped curiously like a seahorse. Of course, if her mother had been watching her, she would know exactly how important that little stone, which back in the real world hung on a charm around Luna's neck, was to her.

Examining the stone closer, however, Luna realized it wasn't exactly like her charm. At the very top, so tiny it was barely noticeable, was a little black smudge that resembled a familiar triangular rune.

Grindelwald's Mark. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

Eostara was saying, "And I want to hear all about Draco, but I'm afraid you won't be able to stay."

Looking over her shoulder to where her mother was pointing, Luna spotted a dark cloud rushing toward them across the river. As it drew closer, she realized it wasn't a cloud at all: It was the Dark Mark.

She shivered, frightened. Then her mother was at her side on the cliff's edge, smiling tenderly down at her.

"What should I do?" Luna asked.

Eostara placed a fingertip gently on the end of Luna's nose, as she had often done when Luna was a small girl. Smiling mysteriously, she replied, "Fly away, of course."

With that, Eostara stepped gracefully off the ledge, Transfigured into a gorgeous phoenix, and soared away.

Luna woke in a cold sweat to moonlight slanting through the dormitory windows and Dobby the house-elf shaking her awake.

Huge eyes somber, the little elf whispered, "Dobby is here to take Luna Lovegood to Harry Potter."

Fully clothed, Luna – who had been expecting Dobby – slid out from under her sheets, stepped into her shoes, and tip-toed out of the dormitory. As he had the night he'd escorted her to her first-ever meeting with Draco, Dobby led Luna safely through the castle, though this time their destination was the seventh-floor corridor.

"Good luck, Luna Lovegood," Dobby whispered, bowing his goodbye before Luna entered the Room of Hidden Things.

Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron were all waiting on her beside the Vanishing Cabinet, Harry tucking his Invisibility Cloak into the pocket of his robe. The cloak was better even than a house-elf for moving undetected through the castle, Luna was sure, but since she and Draco didn't have the benefit of one, Dobby was a good back-up.

"Dobby's gone to get Draco," Luna informed them, trying to infuse her airy voice with a serenity she didn't feel. It wasn't just that tonight was the night they were rescuing Ollivander. While that was reason enough to be unsettled, Luna knew she was more disturbed by the dream she'd just had.

It felt like a portent of things to come. None of them good.

Just over a week had passed since the Dueling Club tournament. Rumor had it that Zabini would be spending every evening in detention with Snape until at least after the spring holidays; when Luna glimpsed the tall, darkly-handsome boy in the halls these days, he looked sullen and angry, but not remorseful. Draco, who had spent two full days in the hospital wing, had said very little about how he was handling the falling-out with Zabini when they were cooped up together in the Slytherin common room. It was obvious that Draco's Housemates disapproved of Zabini attacking You-Know-Who's favorite student by the way the Slytherins all ignored Zabini, who tended to skip his meals in the Great Hall altogether. Whether Draco was encouraging his Housemates to ostracize Zabini or not, Luna really couldn't tell, as he still spent all of his time with her, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other D.A. members.

Actually, Draco hadn't said much about anything to anyone since leaving Nurse Pomfrey's care. No one could accuse him of being rude or condescending, which would have at least been Draco-like. He was more…well, "removed" was the best word Luna could come up with. He was still incredibly sweet and thoughtful to her (which she adored, especially as it completely clashed with the bad-boy image he liked to cultivate) – he just seemed distant.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny were rehashing the Dueling Club tournament, which was still the hot topic of conversation around the castle, even a week later. Or, Luna noted, it would have been more accurate to say that Hermione and Ron were each talking to Ginny, though they purposefully avoided looking directly at one another, as they had all week.

Draco certainly wasn't the only person acting strangely.

Harry stepped away from the others and came to stand by Luna. "Do you think Malfoy's really up to this?" he asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Luna knew Draco was determined to go through with this rescue mission. So, despite her concerns, she answered loyally, "He seems to have his strength back."

"But he's not quite himself?" Harry guessed knowingly. Luna, who hated lying, reluctantly confirmed that with a nod. "Do you think it has anything to do with his mother coming to see him?"

Luna had to admit, the thought had crossed her mind. Draco hadn't said much about his mother's visit, just that she and Snape had been worried about Zabini trying to hurt him again somehow. He'd alluded to his mother's desire for him to leave school. Nothing he'd told Luna would indicate that the visit had been upsetting, and yet he'd been in a strange mood ever since, introspective and distracted; once or twice, Luna had caught him sitting with his chin cupped in his hand, staring sadly at nothing in particular, looking like the weight of the world had come to rest on his shoulders.

Before Luna could work out how to put her own concerns into words, however, Draco was striding toward them. He nodded curtly to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, slipped his arm around Luna's waist, and said to Harry, "Ready?"

Harry looked searchingly into Draco's eyes. "If you are," he offered uncertainly.

"Let's do it."

Ginny moved first, seemingly the least frightened of them all. She held the door to the cabinet open as first Harry, then Hermione, Ron, Luna and Draco stepped inside.

The interior of the cabinet smelled musty, like the inside of an old school trunk. Luna saw Hermione wrinkle her nose before Ginny pulled the door shut behind her, plunging them into total darkness.

Fear radiated around the cabinet in palpable waves. For Luna's part, trepidation about what they might be facing at Malfoy Manor battled with the excitement she always felt when facing down danger. They were finally doing it – they were finally rescuing Mr. Ollivander. If they succeeded tonight, she mused hopefully, perhaps Draco could relax a little bit…

"Maybe we should hold hands?" Luna suggested brightly, as the darkness began to feel oppressive.

"That's a good idea," Hermione agreed quickly, her voice a small squeak.

Luna reached out and took Draco's hand on one side and Harry's on her other. She tried to remember how they were all arranged: She thought Hermione was on the other side of Harry, Ginny between her and Ron –

Which meant Ron and Draco might even now be holding hands. Luna almost giggled at the thought.

Just then, however, a dizzying wave rolled over her. It felt as if the Vanishing Cabinet had dropped through the floor and left her stomach somewhere high above. Everyone else must have experienced the same thing, because Ginny and Hermione both gasped.

"Don't worry," Ron whispered into the darkness. "It always feels like this."

Since Ron and Draco were the only ones who'd ever been in the Vanishing Cabinet before, Luna took his word for it. Nevertheless, she was relieved when the sensation let up.

"We're here," Draco announced.

Luna wobbled a bit, still dizzy. Draco's hands automatically settled onto her waist from behind, steadying her; she leaned back against him, wanting to be close if even for a moment, and smiled happily when he pressed a gentle kiss against the top of her head.

It was hard to be too scared when she was in Draco's arms.

Ginny led them out of the cabinet into a cobweb-strewn, damp-smelling attic room so packed with dusty crates and old furniture they might have been back in the Room of Hidden Things. "Welcome to the Noble House of Black," Ron quipped in a hoarse whisper. In spite of the anxiety they were all feeling, Luna saw everybody, even Draco, crack a smile at the small humor.

Hermione crept to the door, opened it a fraction of an inch, and peered out, listening closely. The others waited in tense silence. Finally, she shut the door and announced in a whisper, "I can't hear anybody out there. I think we're alone."

"Kreacher'll be around," Harry cautioned her, referring to his late godfather's house-elf.

Pointing her wand at the door, Hermione murmured, "_Muffliato._" She turned back to them and said in a normal voice, "There. Now we don't have to whisper."

"Let's go over the plan again." Harry motioned them all into a loose semi-circle around him. Ginny stood at his elbow; Hermione and Ron stood side-by-side, Hermione holding herself stiffly, as if worried that her arm might brush against Ron's; Draco pulled Luna into his side, wrapping his fingers tightly around hers.

"We're going to come out in Malfoy's bedroom," Harry began, rehearsing a plan they had all memorized during the past week. "From there, we have to get downstairs, across the foyer, and through the kitchen to the cellar – without getting caught. We don't know how much security Voldemort's got on Ollivander, but I think it's fair to expect at least some kind of protection on the cellar."

"Probably Wormtail," Draco put in, again voicing something they'd discussed a dozen times in the past six days. Luna found it comforting to go over the plan once more, anyway; she could tell by the way everyone else nodded eagerly that she wasn't alone in that. "Beyond that, it's really anybody's guess."

"Once we're in the cellar," Harry continued, glossing over the unknown factors that might spell disaster for their plan, "whoever can get through needs to grab Ollivander, and then everybody get back to Malfoy. He'll have the Portkey to bring us back here."

Ron cleared his throat. "Not to put a damper on things, mate, but how sure are we that Ollivander is even still alive? I mean," he added, with a quick glance at Draco, "the last time anybody saw him was when Malfoy was home for Christmas, right? And that's been a couple months."

"Not exactly." Harry looked decidedly sheepish. He avoided Hermione's eyes as he confessed, "I, uh, I've sort of been having these dreams…"

Luna immediately thought of the dream she'd just had of her mother, Transfiguring into a phoenix and flying away from the hideous Dark Mark. A shiver ran through her. Draco pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her from behind; Luna's fear vanished instantly, like morning mist in the mid-day sunlight.

Hermione was looking truly alarmed. "Harry, do you mean you're still seeing into You-Know-Who's mind? But Dumbledore doesn't want you to do that!"

"It's not like I can exactly control it, Hermione," Harry shot back defensively.

"But you can! It's called Occlumency. Draco's basically perfected it at this point. If you'd just try – "

"Yeah, well, I had Snape teaching me, not you," Harry reminded her heatedly.

Undeterred, Hermione persisted, "But look what happened to Sirius – "

"That's enough, Hermione," Ginny snapped, immediately rushing to Harry's defense. "What happened to Sirius wasn't Harry's fault."

Hermione flushed. "Of course it wasn't! I didn't mean…"

"If you're finished scolding Potter," Draco cut coolly across Hermione, who broke off in mid-sentence, "we have somewhere we need to be."

Hermione's blush deepened. She wasn't accustomed to Draco speaking so harshly to her anymore, Luna knew, and she could see that his tone hurt her. So could Ron, apparently, because he glared daggers at Draco, who just gazed evenly back at him, almost inviting Ron to start a fight.

What in the world was going on between all of them? Luna's curiosity was piqued, in spite of the fact that they were about to embark on an incredibly perilous mission. Hermione and Ron were being so polite to one another it was almost like they were reading from a script, yet Hermione couldn't seem to get enough distance between the two of them; Draco was treating Hermione like she'd somehow betrayed him, and he was even being more antagonistic than usual toward Ron. It all added up to something Luna couldn't quite put her finger on.

Harry quickly agreed with Draco, whether because he was anxious to get on with the rescue mission or because he didn't care to be the target of Hermione's disapproval, Luna couldn't tell.

"Malfoy's right, Hermione. We can talk about this later. We need to get moving." He turned to Draco. "You have the Portkey?"

From the pocket of his robe, Draco produced the beautiful silver watch with the emerald-serpent face Luna had once before admired – a Christmas gift from his father, he had told her, sounding as proud of Lucius as Luna was of Xenophilius. Luna was sure the watch held great significance for Draco as the means by which he would now go home as his father's enemy; with that realization came another, one that explained much about Draco's sullenness the past few days, and to some extent even his sudden outburst of temper with Hermione and Ron.

To Draco, this wasn't just a rescue mission. As on the night he'd fought Greyback, for Draco, tonight was about turning his back on everything his father believed in.

"If anything happens and we get separated, the fireplace in the dining room connects to the Hog's Head Inn," Draco informed them all.

Luna watched everyone's faces as Draco tapped the watch with his wand, saying, "_Portus_." Ginny had that look of edgy excitement Luna associated with her on the Quidditch pitch; Hermione was biting her lower lip anxiously, likely running back over all the spells they'd practiced in the D.A. meetings; Ron, standing beside her, was doing his utmost to appear brave; Harry and Draco both just looked grimly determined.

Luna was smiling.

In a moment's time, they would be inside Malfoy Manor, pitting their skills against a potential horde of Death Eaters. Luna knew their best hope lay in getting in and out undiscovered. For all the progress they had each made in the D.A. meetings, Luna suspected only Harry was really capable of surviving against You-Know-Who's minions. Even Draco probably wouldn't last long, and he was a very talented wizard.

And if You-Know-Who himself was there…

_Then none of us are coming back._

Draco must have been thinking the same thing, because as they all reached out to place a finger on the newly-made Portkey, he leaned down to whisper in Luna's ear, "I love you."

She smiled radiantly, flooded with a burst of happiness as the world spun crazily around them. Luna closed her eyes; she had traveled by Portkey several times with her father, and she knew landing on her feet would be easier if she didn't see the ground racing toward her.

"Let go," Draco abruptly commanded.

They all obeyed, pulling their hands back from the Portkey. A second later, the world stopped spinning.

Opening her eyes, Luna was pleased to see everyone had managed to come to rest without toppling over. Taking a quick glance around at the opulent bedchamber into which they'd fallen – Draco's bedroom, she realized – she thought that was at least an auspicious start to the evening's adventure.

And then she realized they had just walked into a trap.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two: Sacrifice

The instant the Caterwauling Charm went off, making enough noise to wake the dead, Draco cursed his own stupidity.

He should have been expecting it. He should have known his uncle Rodolphus didn't trust him. He should have been prepared for something like this…

"Back to the Portkey, now!" Potter commanded, grabbing Ginny's hand – brave as ever, Weasley's sister had started to dash for the hallway, keen on keeping to the plan anyway – just as Draco's bedroom door flew open.

"_Accio _Portkey!"

That was Alecto Carrow, her beady little eyes gleaming malevolently. Draco lunged for the serpent-faced watch, but he was a half-second too late: Their escape route sailed through the air and right into Alecto's pudgy hands.

"Dammit!" Draco muttered, flicking his wand toward Alecto, who neatly dodged his Stunning spell just as her brother lumbered into the room behind her.

"_Confundo_!" Luna cried, and Alecto stumbled back into her brother, her eyes uncrossing. While Amycus tried to right his sister before she could fall, Potter Disarmed him.

"Get to the dining room, everybody! Go!" Draco seized Luna's hand and hauled her along behind him, firing off another Stunning spell at Amycus, who ducked just in time.

They had no hope now of reaching the cellar or rescuing Ollivander. They would simply have to do their best to get out alive.

Draco led the charge down the hallway, as he knew where he was going. Glancing back, he saw Potter bringing up the rear, turned halfway around to guard their flank; Ginny, Hermione, and Weasley were spread out in a line in front of him. Plunging ahead, Draco kept a death-grip on Luna's hand.

"Ginny, what are you doing?"

Weasley's shout brought Draco's head around. He watched Ginny shove past Potter, racing back toward the bedroom.

"Stop her!" Weasley cried desperately to Potter, who darted after the quick-footed redhead.

Draco didn't wait to see how things would turn out. He had to get to the dining room, to the fireplace that would lead them back to the Hog's Head Inn. None of them would stand a chance if somebody didn't get there and guard that escape route.

He had been so foolish, Draco could see that now. What had he been thinking, leading them all into this trap? Had it never occurred to him that, if someone in Voldemort's inner circle distrusted him enough to set Zabini on him, that same someone might have anticipated Draco doing something brash, like trying to save Ollivander? It was even possible, he realized, thundering down the great staircase to the marble-floored foyer, that whichever Death Eater was feeding Zabini information might have told him about the Elder Wand for the specific purpose of luring Draco here, to Malfoy Manor where Ollivander was being kept. Maybe whoever was using Zabini had known he wouldn't be able to keep his big mouth shut about his own mission, and that once Draco heard about the Elder Wand, he would put two and two together and –

A jet of red light scraped past Draco's shoulder, exploding the silver serpent that topped the banister at the bottom of the stairs. _Questions can be answered later, _he decided, spinning to face the new threat. _For now, fight._

Rastaban Lestrange and Thomas Nott were blocking the entrance to the dining room. Draco considered charging them – after all, he still had four fighters to their two, as Weasley and Hermione had stayed behind him – but he could see Crabbe and Goyle's fathers and Antonin Dolohov rushing down the length of the dark-polished table to back up Rastaban and Nott.

The Death Eaters were sealing off all magical escape routes out of Malfoy Manor.

"The kitchen," Draco shouted, turning on his heel and racing through a small door off to the side. He fired off Curses over his shoulder. Someone – it sounded a little like Nott, though it was impossible to be sure – howled in pain as Draco's Stinging jinx hit home.

"Where are we going?" Hermione shrieked, hot on Luna's heels.

Draco skidded to a stop in front of the door that led down to the cellar, pulling Luna close against his side. Weasley crashed into the room, followed a second later, Draco was relieved to see, by Potter and Ginny, who slammed the door shut behind them and Levitated a heavy wooden table in front of it to slow down their pursuers.

"Can any of you Apparate?" Draco demanded of Hermione, Weasley and Potter. Hermione shook her head, eyes wide with terror; Weasley and Potter followed suit.

"Don't need to." Ginny offered one of her cat-like grins and held up Draco's serpent-faced watch. "I went back for this."

"She was brilliant," Potter observed, as something heavy rammed into the kitchen door. "Summoned it right out of that big bloke's hands."

"What're we waiting for?" Weasley seized Hermione by the elbow and drug her toward Ginny. "Let's get out of here."

But Ginny yanked the watch out of her brother's grasp. Her jaw was set in a determined line. "We're not leaving without Ollivander."

A spell blasted through the kitchen door. On instinct, Draco jerked open the cellar door behind him, deciding whatever waited on the other side couldn't be any worse than what they were about to face; to his surprise, nothing came hurtling out of the darkness to meet them.

"_Lumos_," he murmured, casting his wand-light over an empty, rickety wooden staircase.

"Go!" Potter shouted, as the Carrows tore around the corner, taking aim at the little knot of intruders.

Draco shoved Luna forward. He stepped in front of the others, winging Curses wildly toward their attackers, as Hermione, Ginny and Potter plunged into the darkness. Draco glanced back to make sure they were all safely inside and was surprised to find Weasley at his elbow, facing down the Carrows, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Rastaban and Dolohov with a look of grim determination.

Before Draco could tell him to get moving, Rastaban cried, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Without really thinking what he was doing, Draco lowered his head and tackled Weasley, knocking them through the cellar door and down the stairs as a jet of green light exploded the section of wall where Weasley's head had just been.

They tumbled head-over-heels to the bottom of the staircase, landing with a painful thud in a tangle of arms and legs on the stone floor. Tears sprang to Draco's eyes as the air left his lungs in a rush, but he kept his wits about him: Pushing up onto one elbow, he flicked his wand at the cellar door, causing it to slam shut in Amycus Carrow's face. He heard a satisfying crunch as the wood connected with the big man's nose.

Muttering a Protection charm, Draco bought them a few more minutes by magically sealing the door. It wouldn't hold the Death Eaters for long, but seeing as how Ginny had the Portkey, Draco hoped it would be long enough.

Falling back onto the floor, every bone in his body aching from the spill they'd just taken, Draco realized he was still lying half on top of Weasley.

"You just saved my life," Weasley murmured in astonishment, his voice muffled because his chin was pressed into the floor.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't read into it, Weasley."

He thought he heard a snort of laughter, or maybe that was just Weasley trying to catch his breath.

"Draco! Ron! Are you okay?" That was Hermione, dropping to her knees beside them, looking close to hysterical. Potter stepped up behind her, his expression grim.

Extricating himself from Weasley, Draco grunted that he was fine. He let Potter help him to his feet while Hermione fussed over Weasley. "Where's Luna and Ginny?" he demanded.

_And why the bloody hell haven't we left yet?_

"We're right here," Luna's dreamy voice sounded from deeper in the dark, dank cellar. "We're with Mr. Ollivander."

"He's in a bad way," Potter informed Draco quietly. "I'm not sure we can move him by Portkey."

"We don't have any choice." As if to punctuate Draco's words, the door above banged open as a Death Eater broke through the Protection charm. "We have to go, now!"

If they moved quickly, Draco thought wildly, they could grab Ollivander, whatever shape he was in, and take the Portkey back to Grimmauld Place before the Death Eaters made it to the bottom of the stairs.

"Not so fast."

Draco recognized the cold voice as that of his uncle Rodolphus. His momentary hope dissolved instantly as the tall, black-robed figure stepped out of the shadows, holding a white-faced Ginny Weasley by the hair.

Yaxley appeared behind him, one hand fixed over Luna's mouth, his other arm wrapped so tightly around her slender body she looked as if she was being squeezed to death.

Draco felt the blood drain out of his face as his worst nightmare threatened to come true: He was going to watch Luna die.

Rodolphus smiled cruelly at his nephew. "Welcome home, little one."

Luna was afraid at first Mr. Ollivander was already dead: The old man looked terribly frail lying there on the damp stone floor, his half-open eyes sunken into his skull, his emaciated body curled in on itself, his wrists and ankles bolted to the floor with heavy shackles that had left awful, weeping welts on his papery skin. But then he drew in a rattling breath, blinked his eyes open, and gazed unseeingly up at her.

"Are you real, my dear?" he whispered.

Gently, Luna tapped her wand against his chains, releasing him. "Yes, Mr. Ollivander," she replied softly, dimly aware that someone was crashing down the stairs behind her. "It's Luna Lovegood. I'm here with Harry Potter. We've come to rescue you."

Mr. Ollivander made no attempt to sit up, but he did manage a weak smile. "Rosewood, eight-and-a-half inches, unicorn hair."

Luna smiled back at the description of her wand. "That's right."

"I am glad to see you, my dear."

Ginny crouched down on the other side of the old man, saying over her shoulder to Harry, "He looks bad. I'm not sure we can move him."

Luna heard Draco demanding where she was and called out to let him know she was all right. To Mr. Ollivander, she asked kindly, "Do you think you can sit up? We have a Portkey. We're going to take you home."

Ginny suddenly gasped. Luna looked up, startled, as a hand appeared out of the darkness and slid over Ginny's mouth. A man materialized behind her, his other hand seizing Ginny roughly by her long red hair and jerking her to her feet.

Instinctively, Luna moved to Disarm Ginny's assailant, but before she could, someone grabbed her from behind, and a hand clamped firmly over her mouth as well. Luna struggled, to no avail – her attacker wrapped one powerful arm around her, pinning her arms (and her wand) to her side.

Ginny managed to twist around in her captor's grip. She clawed at his eyes; for a second, Luna thought she might free herself, but then the man grabbed her wrist and bent it backwards. Luna heard a sickening pop, and Ginny gave a tiny, pained cry.

Then she fainted.

Moments later, Luna and a half-conscious Ginny were hauled forward.

"Wands down, please, children," the tall man holding Ginny ordered, his tone mocking. "We don't want anyone getting hurt, now do we?"

Luna watched Harry and Draco slowly lower their wands. Hermione and Ron, standing a few paces behind them, did the same. What sounded like a half-dozen pairs of feet were descending the cellar steps.

Luna's gaze met Draco's. Through bloodless lips, he mouthed, _I'm sorry._

She wished she could smile at him, let him know it was all right, but the man who had overpowered her still had his hand fixed over her mouth. Instead, she tried to tell Draco with her eyes that she didn't blame him.

_I'm so glad I met you, _she wanted to say. _I mean, really met you, for who you are. _

No matter what, Luna couldn't regret that.

The Death Eaters spread out in a loose circle around Luna and her friends. "The Dark Lord is on his way," a man Luna recognized as Anontinin Dolohov, one of the Azkaban escapees, announced. "Rastaban's just called for him. He's bringing Lucius and Bellatrix with him."

Luna wanted to hold out hope that Draco's parents would be able to save him, yet she didn't think that would be the case. You-Know-Who would show no more mercy to a Death Eater who had betrayed him than he would to Harry Potter himself.

Faced with certain death, Luna found herself surprisingly calm. She felt a pang of regret for her father. He had nearly lost his mind when her mother had died; she hoped he would be all right now, that maybe Ron's parents would think to go look in on him now and again, as they lived quite close to one another. Or perhaps Neville, kind, thoughtful Neville, would think to do it.

"Let me by."

A breathtakingly beautiful woman with a curtain of silver hair to match Draco's shoved through the crowd, her eyes scanning the assembled faces until she spotted her son. Luna watched a flurry of emotions cross Narcissa Malfoy's face: fear, disbelief, pain, and, finally, pride.

"Sorry to be the one to break it to you, Cissy," the man holding Ginny drawled, sounding anything but. "I'm afraid our little Draco here is in a bit deeper with Potter and his friends than he made out at Christmas."

"Thank you, Rodolphus, but I think I know my son a little better than you do." Mrs. Malfoy strode authoritatively over to Draco, reaching out to touch his cheek, where a rivulet of blood tracked down from a shallow cut beneath his eye. "Are you all right, darling?"

Draco nodded. Luna thought he looked bewildered by his mother's concern, as if the last thing he'd expected was for her to show him kindness.

"We'll keep them down here," Mrs. Malfoy decided, her tone brooking no argument. "I've sent Wormtail to prepare for the Dark Lord's arrival. Crabbe, Goyle, you will guard this cellar, see to it that no one gets in or out. Understood?"

The man holding Ginny, the one Mrs. Malfoy had called Rodolphus, hesitated. "I think we should bring Potter up with us."

"He's not going anywhere, Rodolphus. Unless you think a sixteen-year-old wizard can Apparate through our magical barriers?"

The scorn in Mrs. Malfoy's tone was plain. Reluctantly, Rodolphus released Ginny, shoving her forward; she tripped and would have stumbled if Harry hadn't reached out to catch her. Luna saw him cradle Ginny's broken wrist, murder in his emerald eyes.

The man holding Luna also released her, though rather than shove her, he simply let her go. While Luna's first instinct was to run to Draco, she checked it. Something told her not to draw more attention to them right now. Maybe it was just that the way Draco's mother was acting didn't quite track, like Mrs. Malfoy was maneuvering to get the Death Eaters out of the cellar, but despite the impossibility of their situation, Luna felt a glimmer of hope.

Hadn't she always been convinced Draco's mother had spotted them beside the fireplace the night of Greyback's capture? Instead of setting the Death Eaters on them, Mrs. Malfoy had claimed the dining room was empty. If she'd been willing to help her son then, Luna reasoned, who was to say she wasn't doing the same thing now?

The Death Eaters all started up the stairs, including Rodolphus, though he continued to look uncertain about the plan. Mrs. Malfoy hung back, using a silk handkerchief to daub blood off Draco's cheek.

Too softly for anyone other than Draco and his friends to hear, as the other Death Eaters were already filing back up into the kitchen, Mrs. Malfoy asked them, "Do you have a way out?"

Her face white with pain, Ginny looked to Draco for help. Slowly, he nodded at her.

"We have a Portkey," Ginny revealed, holding up the watch in her right hand.

Mrs. Malfoy smiled when she saw what Ginny held. "Good. Use it."

Luna's heart jumped into her throat. _She's letting us go! _Luna wanted to exult, so happy she could have hugged Draco's mother (although Narcissa Malfoy didn't look like the sort of woman one would hug). _She's saving us!_

"You can't," Draco protested. "Voldemort will kill you."

"Darling, you don't have a choice." Mrs. Malfoy turned away from Draco and fixed Harry with a McGonagall-like glare. "You, Harry Potter, I don't want any heroics from you. You get Ollivander and these children out of here, do you understand me?"

Harry nodded.

With a wave of her wand, Mrs. Malfoy released whatever Charms were impeding anyone from traveling magically in or out of the cellar. She started for the stairs, adding, "And hurry. The Dark Lord will be here any second."

Harry was already leading Ginny over to where Ollivander slumped lifelessly on the floor. Hermione and Ron hurried over to them, Ron gently taking his sister's injured wrist in both his hands and whispering that Nurse Pomfrey would be able to heal it in no time.

Luna remained rooted to the spot, watching Draco. A lump the size of a small boulder had formed in her throat, making it almost impossible for her to pose the question she needed to ask – though she already knew the answer.

"You're not coming, are you?"

Draco turned toward her, his sapphire eyes flat. "No, love. I don't think I am."

Terror skated through Luna, yet she was proud of herself for sounding perfectly calm as she declared, "Then I'll stay, too."

"I can't let you do that." Draco's smile didn't reach his eyes, but it meant so much to Luna that he tried – that even now, he was determined to be brave for her. "You take care of Potter, all right? Promise me."

Tears pricked Luna's eyes. Part of her was screaming that this couldn't be the end; she couldn't simply leave Draco here, knowing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was coming to kill him (and probably his parents as well). Nonetheless, another part of her understood, as Luna always had, that what they were involved in was bigger than her, or Draco, or the future she had let herself imagine for the two of them.

_Take care of Potter, _Draco had said. Not "take care of yourself." Not "save yourself." That was what he had wanted for her in the garden all those months ago, when he'd insisted she find her way back to Hogwarts, leaving him behind if they were caught. By now, Draco too seemed to realize that what mattered was Harry, because Harry was the way to defeat You-Know-Who.

Stretching out her hand to him, Luna promised, "We'll get Dumbledore. We'll come back for you."

"Draco, Luna, we have to go," Hermione pleaded desperately from beside Ollivander.

Draco caught Luna's fingers and lifted them to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "I love you," he breathed.

Luna managed to smile with something of her usual serenity. "I love you back," she said, adding firmly, "But this isn't goodbye."

She backed away from Draco, her eyes holding his, until she sensed the others just behind her. Slowly, trying to memorize every feature of Draco's handsome face – his pretty eyes, his pointed chin, his long nose, his sleek blonde hair – she turned away from him and knelt with her friends next to Mr. Ollivander.

"What about Malfoy?" Ron asked, his eyes widening.

Luna kept on smiling even as her tears spilled over. She spoke lightly. "He's not coming."

Harry started to protest, getting to his feet as if he intended to drag Draco bodily out of Malfoy Manor, but Luna caught the sleeve of his robes and tugged him back down. "It's his choice, Harry," she declared, her voice strong through her tears. "He made me promise to look after you."

"He can't – "

"She's right, Harry." Hermione's voice sounded choked, like she was fighting sobs, but her expression was one of grim determination. "Draco told me once that You-Know-Who would take everything from him before…before the end. He'll take every thought Draco's ever had. The Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts won't be safe for long. We have to get back and warn Dumbledore, and we have to rescue Mr. Ollivander."

"But we can't just leave him," Ginny protested, firing up despite her broken wrist.

Luna could see Harry fighting not to accept the reality of the situation, but after a brief and furious internal struggle, he reached out for the Portkey. "We're coming back," he declared. "We'll get to Hogwarts and tell Dumbledore what's happened. We'll bring him back with us to help Malfoy."

Reluctantly, Ginny held the Portkey out to them all, her uninjured hand clutching the front of Mr. Ollivander's filthy shirt. Luna saw Harry staring hard over her shoulder at Draco, but she didn't turn to follow his gaze. She couldn't.

She knew if she looked back, she would never be able to leave.

_Fly away, of course, _her mother whispered in her ear.

And so Luna closed her eyes, placed her index finger on the Portkey, and flew.

Draco waited for his friends to disappear before he let the panic set in.

_Send back help, _he pleaded silently, winging the thoughts after Potter. _And hurry._

His mother was standing on the next-to-top step, frozen in place. Draco knew she was afraid to turn around, to look back down into the cellar, because she had to know, in her heart of hearts, that her son would not abandon her.

"Mother."

Narcissa pivoted slowly, graceful as a ballerina. Draco waited at the bottom of the stairs while she walked down to him, her expression a mixture of love and anguish.

"Thank you," he said, when she reached him. "For saving them."

"Them?" Narcissa echoed, a little smile turning up the corner of her mouth. "Or 'her'?"

Draco colored, though in truth, he was glad his mother seemed to approve of his feelings for Luna. "Both," he confessed.

The smile faded from Narcissa's face. With a flick of her wand, she murmured, "_Cave Inimicum,_" sealing the cellar door shut. Draco heard Crabbe and Goyle react to that on the other side by pounding on it with their fists.

"You've been practicing Occlumency?" Narcissa queried.

Draco nodded, wondering where she was going with this – surely she knew he wouldn't be able to hold off a determined mental attack from Voldemort, not when the Dark Lord knew he'd been lying.

"Good. Then I want you to resist what I'm about to do, just like you were repelling a Legilimens. Understood?"

"Yes," Draco replied. He didn't, actually, but he knew they had only minutes left, maybe less, before Narcissa's magical barrier would give way. He could ask for explanations later.

He tensed when she lifted her wand, aimed it directly at his face, and whispered, "_Imperio_."

The spell encountered Draco's well-practiced mental barrier and bounced harmlessly away. He knew he was still under his own power, yet even as he privately congratulated himself for that – not many wizards could resist the Imperius Curse – he realized what it meant for his mother to want Voldemort to believe Draco was under her control.

She meant to sacrifice herself to save him.

"You can't," he started.

Narcissa pulled him into a swift, fierce hug. "You're my son," she whispered against his hair. "And you're going to live." She stepped away, holding him at arm's length and staring hard into his eyes. "You're going to live, and you're going to keep fighting. Do you understand me?"

All Draco understood was that his mother would be killed. He shook his head. "I can't. I can't let you do this."

"You have to." The banging on the cellar door grew louder as more voices joined Crabbe and Goyle's. Narcissa spoke urgently. "Listen to me, Draco, your father and I love you, and we love one another. Neither of us wants anything more than for you to be free of this. Your father is so very, very sorry you were ever caught up in this at all. You have to believe that."

Draco's mind was racing, trying to process what his mother was telling him. Would his father truly support his decision to betray Voldemort, if it meant Draco would live? He had expected that of his mother, but not of Lucius.

"And Draco, whatever happens, trust Severus."

"Snape?" Draco shook his head, bewildered. "But why – "

"Because he made the Unbreakable Vow," Narcissa returned in an urgent whisper. "He swore to protect you, with his own life. And because he has reasons to hate the Dark Lord you can't begin to imagine. Trust him, Draco. No matter what happens, trust Severus."

At that moment, the cellar door burst open, and their enemies were upon them.

The Carrows hauled Draco up the cellar stairs, one on either side, pushing and shoving him the whole way. When he fell at the top, Amycus kicked him hard in the ribs; Alecto yanked him back to his feet, squeezing his arm hard enough to cut off the circulation.

Behind them, Draco's uncle Rodolphus was dragging Narcissa along by her hair.

Narcissa had surrendered her wand without a fight. Because he didn't know what else to do other than follow his mother's plan, Draco had done the same, trying his best to look meek and harmless. All the while, his mind was whirling through possible escape scenarios.

If he pretended to be Imperiused, maybe they could buy a little time while the Death Eaters sorted out what was what. Surely Potter and Luna and the others would be back at Hogwarts in the next few minutes. Surely Dumbledore would send help; surely he wouldn't abandon Draco and his mother to die, not when Potter reported that Narcissa had saved them.

_Just stay alive, _Draco ordered himself. _There has to be a way out of this – for both of us._

He wouldn't think about the possibility that help might not come, Draco decided. He wouldn't even entertain the idea of needing to sacrifice his mother to save his own skin. He would have faith in Luna and Potter and Dumbledore to get him out of this before it came to that.

They were pushed into the dining room and backed up in front of the cold, empty grate of the great fireplace. Draco had a wild thought of escaping through the Floo Network, but without his wand, he knew he wouldn't be able to take two steps before the Death Eaters could Stun him.

Or worse.

Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Rastaban, Rodolphus, Yaxley and the Carrows were soon joined by Draco's father and Aunt Bella, both wearing long black cloaks, their cheeks flushed from the wintry air outside. Wormtail slunk into the room on their heels, huddling rat-like in a corner, as if he feared being punished along with the suspected traitors.

Pushing his dark hood back, Lucius proved to be a ghastly shade of white. He stared hard at his wife, something passing between them that Draco couldn't quite read.

Bellatrix looked torn between fury and terror.

And then Lord Voldemort appeared.

He swept majestically into the room, his black robes flowing around him like smoke, the great snake Nagini at his heels. The Dark Lord's scarlet eyes glowed malevolently.

Draco worked all emotion out of his face even as icy terror seeped into the marrow of his bones, chilling his heart. He focused his attention on appearing as dull and puppet-like as Pansy Parkinson had these last weeks.

In Voldemort's wake came Snape, dark and severe as ever. Draco's heart constricted. He wanted to hope – he wanted to believe – that his mother could be right, that Snape would find a way to protect him. Deep down, though, Draco thought whether Snape would help the Malfoys or let them die was anyone's guess.

"Well, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed, moving past the Death Eaters to stare down Draco and his mother, "it seems your family has disappointed me again."

"It can't be true, my lord!" Bellatrix fell on her knees, actually kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "This must be some further plot to besmirch my family's name. My sister would never, ever betray you!"

"For once in your life, Bella, do shut up." Narcissa's voice was steely. Draco chanced a glance at his mother out of the corner of his eye and saw her regarding her deranged sister with open contempt. "You're not a mother. You haven't the slightest idea what I would and wouldn't do to protect my son."

"What are you saying?" Bellatrix demanded, looking stricken. "Cissy, what have you done?"

"What no one else would do," Narcissa spit back. The vehemence of her anger caused Bellatrix to fall back a step, though she was armed and Narcissa was not. "Your precious Dark Lord sends my son on a suicide mission, and all anyone can do is rave about what an honor it is. As if a sixteen-year-old wizard would have any chance of killing Albus Dumbledore!"

"It's a glorious task!" Bellatrix shrieked, leaping to her feet. She crossed the room in three long strides and struck her sister across the face, hard enough to turn Narcissa's head.

Draco concentrated on staring blankly at the wall behind Yaxley's head to keep himself from shoving his aunt across the room.

"Any mother should be honored to give her son's life for such a cause as ours. And Draco should be proud for the opportunity to die in the Dark Lord's service!"

"Oh, he is," Narcissa returned acidly, her voice dripping with disdain. She seemed oblivious to the bruise blooming on her cheek.

Draco's aunt pulled up short at that. "But – I – "

"When I went to Hogwarts last week," Narcissa continued, in a clear voice that carried to every person in the room, "I tried to convince my son to come home with me. To let Severus carry out his mission. But Draco refused."

Snape leaned in to Voldemort and whispered something. The Dark Lord frowned. Draco hoped with all his might Snape was confirming Narcissa's story (which was true, actually) and not signing their death warrants by revealing Draco's treacherous pact with Dumbledore.

His expression giving no hint as to his thoughts, Voldemort came forward to stand beside Lucius, very close to Draco and Narcissa. Nagini slithered around the Dark Lord's white ankles, eyeing the captives hungrily.

"If Draco is such a loyal servant," Voldemort inquired mildly, his reptilian eyes trained on Narcissa's, no doubt attempting to penetrate her mind, "then why was he here tonight, fighting alongside Harry Potter?"

"Because I told him to."

The Dark Lord arched an eyebrow. "So you admit that he agreed to betray me?"

Narcissa tossed her silvery hair haughtily over her shoulder, reminding Draco sharply of Ginny Weasley when she was in a fit of pique. "Hardly. Before I left Hogwarts, I put Draco under the Imperius Curse. And I _ordered_ him to help the Potter boy kill you."

An incredulous smile spread across Voldemort's face, as if the possibility that one of his minions could want him dead was quite unthinkable, yet Draco saw hatred flash in his scarlet eyes.

It was Bellatrix, however, who gasped in outraged horror, crying, "I don't believe it! Cissy, you wouldn't!"

"Check my wand."

At Narcissa's calm suggestion, Voldemort nodded to Snape, who took Narcissa's wand from Alecto. Draco heard his Head of House murmur, "_Priori Incantato_."

"Well?" Voldemort prompted, his eyes never leaving Narcissa's face. Draco kept staring at the wall, focused on keeping his expression perfectly blank.

"This wand has recently cast the Imperius Curse, my lord," Snape reported evenly.

A heavy silence fell. Draco could feel cold sweat beading on his forehead; his heart was pounding so loudly he wondered everyone couldn't hear it in the stillness.

Surely Dumbledore was on his way here by now, or at least sending the Aurors in his stead. They were running out of time…

As if reading Draco's mind, Rastaban took a tentative step forward. "Forgive me, my lord, but the Order of the Phoenix may be here any moment. We have to assume Potter has taken the wandmaker back to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore will not abandon one of his students to death."

Draco wished with every fiber of his being for that to be true. No one would have looked better to him in that instant than Hogwarts' Headmaster – although he would have taken Mad-Eye Moody as a close second.

"Well, Lucius, my old friend, it seems you have a traitor in your family." Voldemort's cold gaze moved to Draco's father, who continued to stare fixedly at his wife. "The time has come to choose your loyalty, once and for all. Will you die with your wife," Draco winced slightly at that, "or will you stand with me?"

Draco saw his aunt Bella blanch. For a moment, he thought she might try to shield her sister – but then she stepped to the side, giving Lucius a clear shot.

It took every ounce of Draco's self-control not to throw himself in front of Narcissa. What stopped him was the simple, unshakable belief that his father would never hurt his mother, not even for the Dark Lord. In his entire life, Draco had never so much as heard Lucius raise his voice with his wife. If anything, he had always worshipped Narcissa, showering her with expensive gifts and regularly declaring her his "lovely rose." It simply wasn't possible that Lucius could harm Narcissa.

Rodolphus cleared his throat. "Surely a quick death is too good for this traitor, my lord," he observed stonily. His face was a mask of loathing. "Surely she must be made to suffer for her treachery."

Draco really hated his uncle in that moment, even as he felt a thrill of fear for his mother – and one for himself, as he realized that under torture, Narcissa might just break and confess her lie, owning up to Draco's betrayal.

It was beginning to dawn on Draco that no one was coming to save them. Maybe Potter hadn't been able to get Ollivander back inside the Vanishing Cabinet. Maybe Dumbledore had refused to help. Maybe Thicknesse, who actually was suffering under the Imperius Curse, had ordered the Aurors to stay out of it, even if Dumbledore had contacted them.

Whatever the case, Draco realized, he was on his own.

He could see that cold hard truth reflected in his father's pale eyes. Rodolphus, obviously expecting Lucius to protest, didn't quite know what to say when Lucius murmured, "I agree."

Draco felt his body began to tremble and concentrated on remaining perfectly still.

Lucius paced forward until the tip of his wand was pressed into his wife's throat. Narcissa lifted her chin defiantly. To everyone else in the room, it undoubtedly looked as if Lucius was ready to Curse his wife, and that Narcissa would have liked to strike him as Bellatrix had just struck her. Only because he knew them so well was Draco able to sense a silent understanding passing between his parents.

His stomach clenched as he began to suspect that he knew what they were up to – that this whole confrontation was being carefully choreographed to keep the focus on them, on Narcissa's supposed betrayal and Lucius' supposed loyalty, rather than on Draco, whose situation was truly untenable.

_I could end it right now, _Draco thought, watching his parents out of the corner of his eye. _All I have to do is say the words: "My mother had nothing to do with this. I'm the one you want. I'm the traitor."_

He could feel the confession forming in his throat. It wouldn't be so bad to die, he reflected, if he could go first, without watching his parents suffer. He chanced a quick glance at Snape to find the professor's dark eyes boring into him. Surely his Head of House would take pity on him, cast the Killing Curse before Draco had to witness his parents' murder…

_"You're not the first young man upon whose shoulders I've had to place a tremendous weight this year, Draco."_

Dumbledore's words echoed suddenly in Draco's ears, almost as if Snape's penetrating glare was forcing them into Draco's memory, calling unbidden to his mind the Headmaster's somber face as he laid out for Draco the plans he believed Voldemort had for him. In not so many words, Dumbledore had revealed that Potter was only one part of the Headmaster's plan to bring down the Dark Lord; Draco, quite unwittingly, had become another part, one Dumbledore seemed to believe could be crucial to Potter's success.

The penultimate spy inside Voldemort's ranks, that was what Dumbledore wanted Draco to become. The Headmaster was willing to have Draco murder him to achieve that. Would he hesitate to have Draco sacrifice his parents, if it meant convincing the Dark Lord of his continued loyalty?

If he died here tonight, marked as a traitor by Voldemort, Draco knew he would be remembered as a hero. Children would learn his name along with Harry Potter's. Theirs would be a story for the ages: They would be the bitter enemies who became great friends, each willing to give his life for what he believed in. It would not be a bad death. Even at sixteen, Draco could acknowledge that.

If he did survive, as his parents wanted him to, as Dumbledore wanted him to, the path ahead would be far less clear-cut. Draco would be remembered as a villain to rival Voldemort. He would be Draco Malfoy, the wizard who had killed Albus Dumbledore. And yet, by surviving, he would be ensuring that Potter had someone close to the Dark Lord who was really, truly on the Chosen One's side. Someone who would never betray him, as Draco still feared Snape might, if for no other reason than that Snape genuinely seemed to hate Potter.

_Become the monster to kill the monster. _

All of those things occurred to Draco in the space of a few seconds, while his parents looked hard into one another's eyes. So subtly Draco couldn't be sure he'd really seen it, he thought he saw a fleeting smile pass across his mother's lips.

_"Your father and I love you, and we love one another," _Narcissa had said. No matter what was about to happen, Draco knew in his soul that was true. Lucius and Narcissa weren't perfect people, but they did know how to love, and love was all Draco had ever witnessed between them. Even now, he could see it, could feel the bond that connected them, as they said goodbye.

Lucius stepped back, his handsome face smoothing out into a cold, unfeeling mask.

Several things happened then at once, so swiftly Draco had trouble processing it all. Lucius yelled, "_Crucio_," at the same instant Narcissa grabbed Bellatrix by the wrist and yanked her into the Curse's path; Bellatrix collapsed, screaming in agony, giving Narcissa the opportunity to pluck her sister's wand from her hand.

Whirling around Rodolphus' Stunning spell, Narcissa trained her wand on Lucius and cried, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

The world slowed down then for Draco. He stared in stunned disbelief as the green light struck his father full in the chest; Lucius's pale eyes widened, bulging slightly, as the Curse found its mark.

Without so much as a cry of pain, Draco's father crumpled to the floor at his son's feet.

Crouching beside the fireplace like a tiger ready to spring, Narcissa shuddered, her beautiful face marred by a grimace of agony. Her gaze flickered from her fallen husband to Snape, standing in the shadows a few paces behind Voldemort.

Then she lifted her wand, aimed directly at the Dark Lord, and prepared to fire off another Killing Curse.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

A jet of green light hit Narcissa, tipping her over backwards into the cold ashes inside the fireplace grate. Draco rocked back on his heels as the world spun wildly around him.

Somehow, he stayed on his feet, staring in disbelief at his mother's killer.

Severus Snape.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three: Loss

It was not difficult for Draco to appear disoriented, the way someone just coming out from under the Imperius Curse might. He looked from his father's prone form, unseeing eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling, to his mother's lifeless body, her hair and skin dusted with ash, and felt the world going dark around him.

Dimly, he was aware of Bellatrix standing in front of him, seizing him by the upper arms and shaking him roughly. He could see her mouth moving, but over the rushing noise in his ears – he realized the sound must have been his own pounding heartbeat – Draco couldn't make out what she was saying.

_Kill me. Someone, please, just end it._

Snape rushed forward, pushing Draco's aunt aside. Draco turned hopefully toward him, thinking perhaps his Head of House was about to show him the mercy of striking him down.

Snape stared hard into Draco's eyes, his gaze filled with unspoken meaning. Draco felt his head start to swim. Bordering on collapse as the grief and shock rolled over him in waves, he vaguely understood that Snape was opening his mind to him, showing him a memory that couldn't be voiced aloud in present company:

_Lucius Malfoy, outside Malfoy Manor, caught Snape's arm as the Dark Lord swept along the path ahead of them. "Is it true?" Lucius whispered, his words choked with fear. "Do they have Draco?"_

_"That was what Rastaban said when he Apparated into the graveyard," Snape answered simply. "Rodolphus and Yaxley caught Draco and Potter trying to rescue Ollivander. Your wife helped Potter escape, but Draco stayed behind."_

_"You have to keep your word, Severus. You have to save him."_

_Glancing uneasily toward Bellatrix, who was looking suspiciously at them over her shoulder, Snape murmured, "There will only be so much I can do in this situation, Lucius."_

_"My wife and I are prepared to give our lives to save our son. But you, Severus, you will have to persuade the Dark Lord that Draco is innocent of any wrong-doing. Can you do that?"_

_Calmly staring back into Lucius' anguished face, Snape replied, "I will do my best."_

Trust Severus, Narcissa had said. No matter what.

"There is no lie in him, my lord," Snape declared, stepping back. Blinking, trying to clear his head enough to focus, Draco realized Snape was letting on that he had just been inside Draco's mind, instead of the other way around. "I believe he is innocent of his mother's treachery."

Amycus Carrow howled with laughter. "Innocent? The boy bloody well took my head off with a Curse this evening, Snape!"

"Perhaps you are unfamiliar with how the Imperius Curse works, Amycus," Snape sneered, looking down his long nose at the squat little man. Amycus spluttered angrily as Snape continued, "If Narcissa Malfoy ordered her son to assist Potter in defeating the Dark Lord, Draco would have had no choice but to attack you."

Undeterred, Yaxley demanded, "You've got an answer for everything, don't you, Severus? Well, try this: How'd they even get here? You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts, and ever since the Triwizard Tournament, you can't use Portkeys in the castle, either."

"I'm well aware of the school's defenses, Yaxley, having helped to create many of them," Snape rejoined.

"You said it, not me," Yaxley muttered.

Snape arched an eyebrow, cold fury settling over his long features. "Are you suggesting that I assisted Draco and his friends in coming here tonight?"

"He couldn't have done," Bellatrix spoke up, though she sounded pained to be defending Snape. "He was in Godric's Hollow, with the Dark Lord and…me," she finished lamely, glancing at her brother-in-law's body.

"There's a passage out of the castle." Draco's own voice sounded foreign to his ears. He wasn't entirely conscious of his decision to speak; the words simply came, almost like someone else was speaking them. "You go through the Great Hall, behind the professors' platform, down a long stone staircase. It comes out beyond Hogsmeade. We took a Portkey from there."

"And you know about this secret passage how?" Yaxley pressed, clearly dubious.

Draco shrugged. "Dobby."

"Dobby? What's a 'Dobby'?" Yaxley demanded impatiently.

Snape clarified silkily, "A house-elf. He used to belong to the Malfoys before he came to Hogwarts. He's a great admirer of Potter's."

Seeing that avenue of suspicion closed off, Yaxley turned to Voldemort. "But where's the proof, my lord? How can we know this boy wasn't acting of his own free will?"

Rastaban jumped in at that. "You saw Severus check Narcissa's wand, Yaxley." Draco thought his uncle's brother looked mildly disgusted by the scene that had just played out; in fact, he was regarding Draco with such open sympathy, Draco felt tears gather in his eyes.

_You will not cry, _he ordered himself. _Not in front of these people._

"And if that's not enough for you, just look at him," Rastaban went on, ignoring his brother's scowl. "He's completely out of sorts."

The Death Eaters, all of whom had seen people under the Imperius Curse before, reluctantly acknowledged the truth of Rastaban's words, even the Carrows.

Holding on to Snape's arm for support, Draco was certain he couldn't stay on his feet much longer. Snape seemed to realize that, because he turned to Voldemort and offered smoothly, "With your permission, my lord, I'd like to take Draco back to Hogwarts."

"Take him back?" Yaxley piped up again sharply. "And just what are you planning to tell Dumbledore happened here tonight, Severus?"

"The Headmaster no doubt has already been informed that Draco helped Potter and his friends break in here this evening, to save Ollivander," Snape rejoined evenly, unperturbed by Yaxley's glower. "I will tell him that Narcissa Malfoy killed her husband to save herself, and that I, to maintain my standing with the Dark Lord, and to save her from torture, killed Narcissa."

Draco shut his eyes. He wished they would all stop talking. He wished they would all disappear. Or, better yet, that he would disappear.

"And you think Dumbledore isn't going to be suspicious about why the Dark Lord would let the boy live after he came here with Potter?"

To that, Snape replied coldly, "I have some experience persuading Dumbledore of my ability to fool the Dark Lord, you may recall. I will tell him I intervened on Draco's behalf."

Voldemort waved off Yaxley's further protests. "I trust Severus to deal with Dumbledore," he tabled. "Yaxley, you will see to it that the Ministry does not investigate this matter over-much. I do not want Severus' position at Hogwarts threatened. Is that understood?"

"Of course, my lord. But what will we tell _The Prophet_?" Yaxley wanted to know.

"_The Prophet _loves a good scandal. Tell them Narcissa Malfoy betrayed us, murdered her husband, and was murdered herself by the Dark Lord. Rita Skeeter will eat that up," Rastaban suggested simply, earning a nod of approval from Voldemort.

"My lord, I still think it's a mistake to send the boy back," Rodolphus persisted, ignoring his wife's growl of protest. "Even if Draco remains loyal, tonight only proves my point: A sixteen-year-old wizard should not be the one to face Dumbledore. We risk everything by putting our faith in this child." His upper lip curled in distaste, as if being a "child" was the worst insult he could think of. "You must see that, my lord – "

"I have to go back." Draco's voice sounded thin and raspy. He swallowed, trying to infuse his words with some authority, because what he had to say next was desperately important. "I have to finish what I started."

"If Draco wishes to resume his mission, he will do so with my blessing."

The Dark Lord glared around the room, his terrifying eyes daring anyone to question his judgment.

No one did.

The particulars of what Draco and Snape would say to Dumbledore were being quickly worked out, as Rastaban was still insistent that the Order of the Phoenix might descend on Malfoy Manor at any moment. Draco only half-listened to the conversation. He was sure Snape was doing a masterful job of spinning out a plan for how he would deceive Dumbledore – a plan he had no intention of carrying out – but Draco couldn't focus. He just knew he wanted out of that room. He felt dead inside, wooden, hollowed out.

Suddenly, all he wanted in the world was to be back at Hogwarts and away from this place.

His parents were dead because of him. He had let them die. He could have told the truth, could have revealed his scheme to Voldemort; they would both still be dead, of course, but at least he would have been with them.

Draco had made his choice. He had chosen to live so he could fight another day. And though he knew Dumbledore would praise that decision, Draco wasn't at all convinced that it had been the right one.

_Now I know how Potter feels, carrying around the weight of his parents' deaths all these years. Knowing if it hadn't been for saving him, they might still be alive._

Something fundamental changed inside Draco then, as he thought about what Voldemort really was – a monster that had destroyed countless innocent lives, Potter's most of all. Draco could feel a poison spreading through his veins: a consuming black hatred of the Dark Lord.

He knew, then, that he would not let his parents have died for nothing. He would use every last breath within him to stop Voldemort.

It was not the heroic desire to see the world purged of evil Draco knew flowed through Potter. What Draco felt was dark, ugly, vengeful, and cruel. He let the hatred surge through him; he drew strength from it, feeling life return to his numb limbs. Gradually, it became less of a struggle to remain upright and breathing despite the hole that had been carved right out of his soul.

For the first time that evening, Draco looked directly at Voldemort.

_Someday, _he vowed, _I will be the death of you._

Voldemort, apparently making some other reading of Draco's expression, came to stand in front of him. Taking the younger man's chin in his spidery white hand, he tilted Draco's face up toward him. The room fell instantly quiet.

"I told you once you would be like a son to me. Do you remember?"

Draco nodded, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. He sensed every eye in the room was fixed on him, yet he kept his gaze leveled on Voldemort's, doing his utmost to appear blameless.

Draco wanted nothing more now than to survive this night with the Dark Lord's faith in him intact. He wanted the chance to become the worm in Voldemort's soul, the traitor who would destroy the Dark Lord from the inside out.

"You loved your parents." The Dark Lord's voice was gentle, not reproving. "And they loved you. But they were weak, Draco. Even your father, though he proved himself loyal in the end, was weak. They would only have held you back. It is better, I think, for you to be free of them. Free to be your own man."

Draco knew exactly what the Dark Lord meant: Free to be _his _man.

"You have not been orphaned this night," Voldemort proclaimed, drawing Draco into a cold embrace. "I will be both mother and father to you now."

"I am honored, my lord," Draco replied. He could feel the Dark Lord's smile; he knew Voldemort was privately congratulating himself on selecting such an easy target, a lost little boy desperately striving for approval – a boy who could bring him wealth and status, the power of a Pureblood name.

In time, Draco hoped, Voldemort would see just how wrong he was. For now, pressing his lips to the Dark Lord's icy cheek, Draco sealed his betrayal with a kiss.

"They're back!"

Luna nearly fainted with relief when Harry burst through the doors of Hogwarts' hospital wing with that announcement. Leaping up from Ginny's bedside, she followed Harry over to the windows, with Hermione and Ron close on their heels.

Sure enough, Snape was leading Draco up the steps into the dark, slumbering castle.

Less than two hours had passed since Luna had said goodbye to Draco in his parents' cellar, yet every minute had felt like a lifetime. The instant they had landed back in the attic at Grimmauld Place, Harry had started shouting for his house-elf, Kreacher; the ancient little elf with the bat-like ears had appeared with a _crack_, glowering as Harry ordered him to Hogwarts to fetch Dumbledore. Despite much grumbling about Mudbloods and blood traitors, Kreacher had no choice but to obey.

"Harry, he needs a Healer," Hermione had managed through her tears, kneeling beside Mr. Ollivander. The old man's face had taken on a disturbingly waxy pallor, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"He's been poisoned." Harry had pointed to Ron and Luna. "We need a bezoar. Come with me, we'll have to search the house."

"Poisoned?" Ron had spluttered. "But how…I mean, why would they poison him, tonight of all nights?"

Hermione had answered in a small, hard voice, "Because they knew we were there to save him." Her expression as she'd looked up at Harry had been one of pure agony. "They planned for us to come for him. They just never meant for us to get him out alive."

Luna had felt whatever small hope she still carried for Draco's survival flicker and threaten to die in her then. If they had been set up – if Zabini had meant for Draco to find out that You-Know-Who was looking for the Elder Wand, as a way to lure him and Harry to Malfoy manor – then surely there was no way even Dumbledore could get there in time to save Draco.

She had recalled the tall, elegant man who had attacked Ginny saying to Draco's mother, "I'm afraid our little Draco here is in a bit deeper with Potter and his friends than he made out at Christmas."

Rodolphus Lestrange, Luna suddenly realized, coming back to the present as she watched Draco disappear inside the castle. The man in the cellar, the one Narcissa Malfoy had addressed as Rodolphus – that had to be Draco's uncle, Bellatrix Lestrange's husband. Draco had once told Luna that his uncle Rodolphus hated Lucius Malfoy for lying his way out of Azkaban after You-Know-Who's fall from power.

Was Rodolphus Lestrange the one feeding Zabini his information? Could he have schemed this all to trap Draco in his own lies, proving him a traitor to You-Know-Who once and for all?

"He's alive." Hermione turned a teary smile on Luna. "Luna, Draco's alive."

Luna nodded, feeling dazed, wondering how that could be so – and knowing, in her bones, that something terrible had happened this night.

At least Mr. Ollivander had made it. Luna, Ron, and Harry had just set out to hunt up a bezoar when Dumbledore had arrived with Professor McGonagall (apparently, the Headmaster could Apparate in and out of Hogwarts). McGonagall had taken Mr. Ollivander straight to St. Mungo's by Side-Along Apparition. Luna sincerely hoped the old wandmaker would survive; he was creepy, no doubt, but she didn't think he was a bad person.

Harry had poured out the story of their disastrous rescue attempt to the Headmaster there in Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had listened patiently, then ordered them to use the Vanishing Cabinet to return to Hogwarts.

"But sir, I want to come with you," Harry had protested. "It's my fault Malfoy got caught. I shouldn't have kept all of this from you. I have to help you bring him back."

Dumbledore had smiled serenely in the face of Harry's impassioned plea. "Let the Order take it from here, Harry. You get Miss Weasley back to Nurse Pomfrey to have that arm seen about, and tell Poppy I said for all of you to remain in the hospital wing until I return."

When Harry had tried to argue, the Headmaster had tabled, "You're still in grave danger from Voldemort, Harry. Right now he knows you are outside of Hogwarts, and that means you are vulnerable. I want you back in the castle straightaway – all of you."

Left with no choice, they had used the Vanishing Cabinet to return to the school, bringing Ginny directly to the hospital wing to have the nurse see about her fractured wrist.

Now, Luna remained by the windows while Ron and Harry went back to Ginny's bedside. Hermione stayed with Luna.

"Do you think Draco's mother is all right?"

Luna shook her head. She didn't know why, but she had a strong sense that Narcissa Malfoy had not made it through this ordeal.

Hermione shuddered. "But she has to be," she decided, trying to talk herself into believing that, Luna could tell. "If Dumbledore sent Snape to bring Draco back, surely he was able to-to work something out…"

When Luna didn't reply, Hermione switched topics. "Has Draco seemed a bit…different to you since the dueling tournament?"

Tracing a heart on the glass with her fingertip, Luna admitted, "Yes, a bit. Really since he got out of hospital."

"I get the feeling he's angry with me," Hermione confessed, cutting her eyes almost unconsciously toward Harry and Ron, "but I don't know why he would be."

"I think he's just angry, in general." Luna traced a "D" and an "L" inside the heart. "I wouldn't worry. Draco's very fond of you."

Just then, the doors opened, and Professor Snape strode in toward them.

"Professor, is Draco all right?" Hermione cried, unable to contain herself.

If possible, Snape looked gloomier than usual, his mouth straining in a taut line. "Draco is meeting with the Headmaster," he informed them coldly. "You are all to remain here for the time being. The Minister of Magic is on his way, and he may wish to speak with each of you, privately."

A cold stone of fear settled heavily in Luna's stomach. Why on earth would the Minister of Magic be coming to Hogwarts? She knew they had broken some serious school rules by sneaking out on their rescue mission – in fact, she supposed expulsion wasn't out of the question, though that seemed a small price to pay for keeping the Elder Wand out of You-Know-Who's hands – but what did that have to do with the Ministry?

"If that should happen," Snape glared at each of them in turn, "you are to tell the Minister that you snuck out of the castle by a secret passageway this evening, used a Portkey to travel to Malfoy Manor with the intention of rescuing Ollivander, and were aided in your escape by Narcissa Malfoy. The Ministry is not to know that Draco remained behind. Is that understood?"

A noise outside attracted Luna's attention. Glancing out the window, she saw Ron's older brother Percy hurrying up the steps beside Rufus Scrimgeour.

Harry took a step forward, doing his best to look and sound respectful despite the loathing Luna knew he felt for Snape. "Professor, please, what's going on? What's happened?"

Snape surveyed Harry down his long nose, his expression one of utter contempt. "What has happened, Potter," he responded sharply, "is that once again your little heroics have cost someone their life."

Luna knew what was coming next, though knowing didn't strip the words of their awful power.

"Draco Malfoy's parents have been murdered."

Ginny and Hermione gasped. Ron's mouth dropped open. Harry went absolutely white.

Luna felt as if someone had just punched her in the gut. She supposed she must have looked rather faint, because Snape suddenly hurried to her side, took her by the elbow, and steered her onto a cot.

"Shall I call for the nurse, Professor?" Hermione asked quietly, studying Luna with frank concern.

"I'm all right." Luna tried to infuse her voice with its usual sunny brightness, but she sounded weak and tremulous even to her own ears. "I just need to sit here for a moment."

The door to the hospital wing opened a crack, and Mr. Filch peered in. "Professor," he called anxiously to Snape, "Headmaster is asking for you. The Minister's arrived."

"Don't go anywhere," Snape warned them all, then stalked out.

"Oh, Luna." Hermione sank down onto the cot beside her friend and pulled her into a tight hug. "Luna, I'm-I'm so sorry…Poor Draco…"

Staring unseeingly over Hermione's shoulder onto the moonlit grounds, Luna tried to process the horror of what Snape had just told them. Draco's parents had been murdered by You-Know-Who. She turned that over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of it all, trying to see where this evening would lead them. All the while, she kept seeing her mother's dream-self Transfigure into a phoenix and soar into the clouds.

_Fly away, of course._

If only she could, Luna thought unhappily, a single tear tracking down her cheek. If only she could take Draco with her, to a place without so much pain and loss.

Movement outside caught Luna's eye again. She pushed away from Hermione suddenly, running to the window and pressing her face against the glass.

Streaking in a silver blur toward the Dark Forest was a great silver panther.

_Fly away, of course._

"Where are you going?" Ginny cried, as Luna sprang toward the door. "Snape said to stay here!"

But Luna didn't care. She knew exactly where she was needed, and nobody was going to stop her from getting there.

Draco and Snape did not speak once they left Malfoy Manor.

Snape took Draco by Side-Along Apparition back to Hogsmeade. It was the dead of night; all the shops were closed, every window dark. The wind carried a promise of rain, yet the night was surprisingly warm for early spring.

Under other circumstances, it would have been a nice night for a walk.

They made their way silently up to the castle. At the gate, Snape paused, waving his wand and murmuring some incantation that allowed them to pass through the magical barriers erected during the night for the students' protection.

Draco stood numbly to one side, wondering in a disinterested sort of way what was happening back at Malfoy Manor. Had the Order of the Phoenix arrived yet? Or had Dumbledore sent the Aurors? Had his parents' bodies been discovered, or were they still lying where they had fallen?

"Are you hurt?"

It was the first time Snape had spoken since they'd left the mansion. Draco shook his head. He was bruised from his fall down the cellar steps with Weasley and from the Carrows' rough treatment; he thought one of his ribs might actually be broken from where Amycus had kicked him, and he knew he had a cut under his eye, because he could feel the blood crusted on his cheek. But physically, he was fine.

Emotionally…Well, that would come in time, he supposed.

"I'm taking you to see the Headmaster," Snape explained to Draco, as they made their way up the steps. "I know you want to check on your friends, but we need to speak to Dumbledore first."

Draco just nodded. He was too wrung-out to argue over logistics: All he really wanted to do was be alone, but he knew that would have to wait.

Dumbledore proved as kind and as wise as ever, all the things the Headmaster was beloved for being. He settled Draco into a chair in front of the cold fireplace while Snape reported on the Malfoys' final moments. The whole time, Dumbledore's eye remained fixed on Draco, and when the story ended, he simply asked, "What do you wish to do now, Draco?"

Draco knew Dumbledore didn't mean what he wished to do in that very moment. The Headmaster was asking much more broadly about the future.

Draco didn't hesitate. "Nothing's changed, Professor," he declared grimly. "I still want to fight."

After a beat, he added, "And I'd like to see my friends."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. But I'm afraid the Aurors have been to your home, and the Minister of Magic is on his way here now. He will certainly have some questions for you."

So Snape was sent to talk to Draco's friends, while Dumbledore rummaged around his desk, writing letters, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts by the fireplace.

He hadn't cried yet, Draco realized. His eyes burned; he kept staring fixedly at the same spot, waiting for the tears to come, but they wouldn't. Some part of his brain realized he was still in shock. It had all happened so fast: One minute, victory had been within their grasp, thanks to Ginny nicking the Portkey away from the Carrows, and then it had all gone wrong – or maybe it had been wrong from the beginning.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, replaying the scene in the cellar, forcing himself to think about what had happened before his parents were murdered. The Caterwauling Charms could have been just a coincidence; after Greyback's capture, Malfoy Manor had been proven less than an impenetrable fortress, and what with Lucius Malfoy and the other Azkaban escapees housed there, it made sense that Voldemort would have wanted the mansion's defenses strengthened. Ergo, the Charms in and of themselves didn't prove that anybody had been expecting Draco to show up with Harry Potter.

But why had the Carrows responded so swiftly? Draco's bedroom was hardly the main center of action in Malfoy Manor. It wasn't a likely place for the Death Eaters to be hanging out, nor was it an especially vulnerable point of entry, like the gardens or the kitchens – unless someone had been expecting Draco be the one dropping in.

And then there had been the fight itself. Running back over it in his mind, Draco couldn't help thinking that the Death Eaters' hearts hadn't really been in it. They had blocked off the entrance to the dining room, preventing Draco and his friends from escaping through the Floo Network, but they hadn't fired off any Killing Curses or even any particularly nasty jinxes. They hadn't, in short, acted like Death Eaters. It was almost like they'd been herding the intruders toward the cellar – like they knew that was where Potter would be heading, to rescue Ollivander, and that was where they'd wanted Potter to end up, because Yaxley and Rodolphus were already there, waiting.

Draco glanced toward Dumbledore, who was scratching out yet another note at his desk. Clearing his throat, Draco said quietly, "Professor, could I ask you something?"

Immediately, Dumbledore set down his quill. "Of course." He steepled his fingers together on top of the desk, giving Draco his full attention. "What's on your mind?"

"Three things, actually."

"I find it's always best to start with the first thing," Dumbledore remarked.

In spite of being numbed by grief, Draco almost smiled at that – it was such a characteristically odd thing to say, classic Dumbledore.

"I don't think we were caught tonight by accident, Professor. I think we walked into a trap."

"Ah." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. Draco suddenly understood why Potter worked so hard to earn the Headmaster's regard; even in his current state of emotional disarray, Draco felt a warm flush of pleasure at the old man's approving nod. "And who do you think set this trap for you and Harry?"

Draco had been turning that over in his mind for several minutes, building upon suspicions that had been growing in him ever since poor Katie Bell had the misfortune of picking up that Cursed necklace. "I think it was my uncle. Rodolphus Lestrange."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Revenge is a powerful motivator," the Headmaster observed, causing Draco to squirm a little, given how focused he was on that very thing at the moment. "And I'm sure all those years in Azkaban gave your uncle plenty of time to nurture a true hatred of any Death Eater who didn't share his and his wife's fate."

Draco appreciated that the Headmaster didn't add, _Like your father_. Draco wasn't ready to talk about Lucius yet.

"But it didn't work," Draco mused. "Voldemort let me live. He let me come back here. So does that mean it's over? That my uncle will just…give up?"

Shaking his head slightly, Dumbledore noted, "I don't think a man like your uncle lets go of his hatred lightly. It has always been the nature of those who serve Voldemort to turn against one another. Unlike real friends, who celebrate each other's victories, the Death Eaters have always been jealous of one another's success. In your uncle's eyes, the more powerful you become, the more favor you are granted, the less status he holds.

"I'm convinced," Dumbledore concluded gravely, "that whoever lured you to your home tonight still means you harm."

_Well, we wouldn't want to make it too easy, now would we?_

Honestly, Draco wasn't surprised, as that was the answer he had come to as well. But Dumbledore's musing gave him a way to bring up his second question. He asked, "Sir, have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?"

Cautiously, Dumbledore answered, "I'm familiar with the story of the Peverell brothers."

"That's why we went to save Ollivander tonight. Because we think Voldemort is looking for the Elder Wand."

Draco was surprised at how good it felt to unburden his soul. He'd spent so long bottling up his secrets, and now in Dumbledore's quiet office, he could feel the floodgates opening. He hadn't realized how desperately he wanted someone to talk to, someone who could advise him, someone he didn't have to scheme with.

"A certain kind of wizard has always been attracted to the power of the Elder Wand," Dumbledore commented. "And I'm sure you can see the appeal of such an instrument for Voldemort."

"He thinks he can defeat Potter with it."

Dumbledore confirmed that with a nod. "I wouldn't worry much about that happening," the Headmaster offered lightly, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. "I happen to know a little something about the history of the Elder Wand, and I can assure you, for the time being it is far beyond Voldemort's grasp. Someday," Dumbledore promised, seeing the questions in Draco's eyes, "we'll speak more of these things, but for now, I believe the Minister is arriving. So perhaps for your third question?"

Wondering if he was about to make a huge mistake, Draco drew a deep breath and asked, "What's a Horcrux?"

The Headmaster's face hardened, but his voice was not unkind when he answered. "I see Harry trusts you more than I realized."

"Potter didn't tell me. I…Well, I was eavesdropping on Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, actually, and I heard them mention it."

Dumbledore smiled at Draco's honesty, though his words were somber. "A Horcrux is a very old, very powerful, and very dark brand of magic. As Headmaster, I will not instruct you in what a Horcrux is used for, as I have forbidden any teacher in this castle to encourage a student's interest in such dangerous ideas. As for how this all relates to Voldemort, I'm afraid that is a secret I have entrusted to Harry, and it is Harry who must decide whether or not you should be told more."

Draco accepted that. The truth was, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know much about the task Dumbledore had given Potter. Draco had his own task before him, and at the moment, that was enough weight to carry.

A knock at the Headmaster's door announced the Minister's arrival, and for the next several minutes, Draco lapsed back into silence, closing his eyes while Dumbledore and Scrimgeour engaged in a verbal skirmish. Scrimgeour clearly believed Dumbledore knew more about what Voldemort had wanted with Ollivander than he was saying (which Draco didn't doubt), and furthermore, the Minister was plainly furious that Dumbledore was refusing to cooperate with the Ministry's ridiculously ineffectual plans for bringing down the Dark Lord.

"It seems to me, Dumbledore," Scrimgeour growled, "that your students tend to land themselves in the middle of murder scenes more often than one would expect."

"We live in extraordinary times, Minister," Dumbledore returned evenly. "In this case, I can assure you, the students were acting from the best of intentions. Draco became aware that Mr. Ollivander was being held at his parents' home, and he attempted to rescue an innocent victim. I think we can all agree that was the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do," the Minister barked, "would have been to alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"

"Interestingly enough, I sent an owl to Pius Thicknesse shortly after the holidays suggesting he might find Ollivander at the Malfoys' home," Dumbledore countered politely. "I'm sure you'll be inquiring as to whether or not that tip was followed up on, Minister. In the meantime," Dumbledore's voice became a bit steely, "unless you intend to arrest Draco and his friends, I believe the conduct of Hogwarts students remains my concern, not yours."

Scrimgeour's golden eyes gleamed with barely-suppressed fury, but he didn't seem inclined to argue jurisdiction with Dumbledore. "I'll need statements from all witnesses," he declared stiffly, motioning to Percy Weasley, standing awkwardly by the door, to take out his notepad. "Starting with the Malfoy boy."

"Draco would be happy to answer your questions, I'm sure," Dumbledore answered smoothly. "Only I'm afraid neither Draco nor any of his friends witnessed the actual crime."

Ah. So that was the angle he was supposed to play: Dumbledore didn't want anyone to know Draco had been shown mercy by the Dark Lord; it would simply raise too many questions, as Voldemort was never merciful.

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to need to hear that from them, Dumbledore." As if suddenly recalling that Draco had just lost his parents, the Minister added hastily, "If the boy isn't up to answering questions, of course, we could come back in the morning…"

"I can tell you what happened."

Draco just wanted to get this over with. Standing, he looked straight at Scrimgeour and explained that he, Potter, Hermione, Ginny, Weasley and Luna had snuck out of the castle (he left out the part about the Vanishing Cabinet, not wanting that tidbit of information getting back to the Dark Lord), traveled to Malfoy Manor (he didn't gloss over the fact that he'd created an unauthorized Portkey; if Scrimgeour wanted to chuck him in Azkaban for that, Draco would accept the consequences), and tried to rescue Ollivander from the Malfoys' cellar. He told how the plan had come apart the moment they landed in his bedroom and set off the Caterwauling Charms, laying out the story of the battle just as it had happened.

When he described the confrontation in the cellar, however, Draco started to embellish, weaving a careful tapestry of lies through the truth.

"My mother helped us escape. She convinced the Death Eaters to leave us in the cellar, and she removed the enchantments so we could use the Portkey to get out."

Scrimgeour pressed, "And you just left? Knowing what You-Know-Who would do to her?"

At last, Draco felt tears prick his eyes. Swallowing hard, he managed, "I saved myself. I'm not proud of it, but it's what she told me to do."

The Minister didn't quite know what to say to that.

Snape came breezing in then, and soon after, Dumbledore dismissed Draco, who stumbled wearily down the staircase.

At the bottom, he hesitated. He knew Luna and the others were up in the hospital wing waiting for him, no doubt worried sick. But the moment he was alone, truly alone for the first time since his parents' deaths, Draco knew he couldn't face anyone just yet.

And so, without stopping to worry that he might be seen, he Transfigured into the great silver panther and raced out the front doors of the castle into the night.

Draco didn't stop running until he was deep inside the Dark Forest.

He let the grief and rage overtake him, pure and scalding. In his Animagus form, he didn't rely as much on thought; he could simply feel. The pain of loss was so great Draco thought for a while it might kill him, but the harder he ran, the less the grief tore at him, the more the rage took hold. He found he could sink into the rage, use it as a shield against the grief, and so he ran until the breath came raggedly in his lungs and his powerful muscles began to tire.

Finally, he slowed, his paws sinking deep into the rain-soaked ground. He threw himself down under an ancient oak tree and there, curled against the roots, returned to his human form.

The first sob ripped from his throat like a scream. And finally, the tears came.

Draco didn't know how long he lay there on the cold, wet ground before he heard the footsteps approaching. By then, his sobs had given way to a silent flood of hot tears. Embarrassed to be discovered at his most vulnerable, Draco, still lying on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face hidden, held up a hand to ward whoever it was off.

_Just leave me alone, _he wanted to plead. _Please, just leave me alone._

Gentle fingers closed around his outstretched hand. Rolling over, Draco watched through a film of tears as Luna knelt beside him.

"It's all right," she said, her voice strong, lovely as a bell. "I'm here now."

Suddenly, Draco didn't want to be alone.

He let her comfort him, curling up with his head in her lap as a fresh round of tears streaked quietly down his cheeks. Sitting cross-legged with her back against the tree, Luna lovingly stroked his hair, murmuring now and then that he would be all right, but mostly just letting him cry himself out.

A long time later, Draco pushed into a sitting position, drawing in a shaky breath as he cuffed at his damp cheeks. "Is Ginny all right?" he asked, his voice quavering.

"She's fine. Nurse Pomfrey sorted her right out," Luna answered, drying her own tears on the sleeve of her robe. "The others are still there with her."

Draco started to ask how Luna had known where to find him, but stopped as a hideous-looking creature, a kind of skeletal winged horse, stepped into the clearing. For a heartbeat, he feared his mind had indeed come unhinged, that he was hallucinating; a second later, he realized what he was seeing, for the first time in his life.

A Thestral.

Slowly, Draco climbed to his feet. Luna, rising with him, gave him a gentle nudge forward, saying lightly, "Go on. They're very friendly."

For a moment, Draco wondered how on earth Luna knew what he was looking at. Then it struck him anew that he wasn't the only one of them who'd experienced a terrible loss: Luna could see Thestrals because she'd watched her mother die, too.

Draco approached the beast cautiously. It moved gracefully to meet him, spreading its wings. Just as he reached out to touch its long nose, the Thestral abruptly lifted off from the ground and soared into the sky.

Smiling in spite of himself, Draco watched the strangely beautiful creature disappear into clouds touched rose by the first rays of dawn.

Luna stepped up beside him, resting her head gently on his shoulder as she, too, watched the Thestral wing its way out of sight. Draco slipped his arm around her waist. "Do you sometimes wish," he mused, his eyes on the clouds, "we could just get fly away?"

He felt Luna stiffen, but when he glanced at her, she was smiling sadly. "Yes."

After a moment, she offered, "If you did decide to run away, I don't think anyone would blame you."

Draco couldn't deny that the thought had once occurred to him – it was why he'd begun repairing the Vanishing Cabinet in the first place. Even now, the idea was tempting: What if he and Luna simply turned and kept walking the other way, heading further and further from Hogwarts Castle? What if they went into hiding, wandering the countryside, stealing what they needed to survive, living off their wits and their wands?

What if they left Potter and Dumbledore to battle Voldemort and just headed off on their own adventure?

"If I did run away," Draco asked, briefly allowing himself to revel in the impossible fantasy, "would you come with me?"

Luna didn't hesitate. "Of course. I'd go anywhere with you."

Lowering his gaze from the sky to Luna's face, Draco saw that she was perfectly serious. He drew her to him, kissing her deeply, feeling something that wasn't exactly happiness – he wasn't sure he could ever be happy again – but perhaps came close to a kind of peace.

When he stepped back, Luna's eyes were burning with a strange, determined fire. Displaying the stubbornness Draco knew ran beneath her happy-go-lucky philosophy, Luna lifted her chin and declared, "Someday, this will all be over. You'll see. You-Know-Who won't be in power forever. We're going to win."

Draco just nodded. He couldn't put into words what was in his heart at that moment. He couldn't tell Luna that, for a future without Voldemort to be realized, he, Draco, would have to turn his back on the man he believed he could have become at Luna's side – a good man, maybe not a hero like Potter, but still someone decent, and kind, and good. To do what Dumbledore had asked, Draco would soon have to become the villain once more.

The night was over, and Draco knew their absence would be marked soon, if it hadn't already. It was time to be going – time to face the friends and enemies who waited for them back at the castle. For a little while yet, Draco was glad he could face whatever waited with Luna by his side.

Linking his fingers through hers, Draco led Luna through the early morning mist, out of the shadowy forest, and into the light of a new day.

_A/N_: No, it's not the end. ;-)


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four: Invitation

Weeks passed.

Draco vacillated between bouts of mind-numbing sorrow, which left him listless and withdrawn, and flashes of boiling rage that made him want to pummel the nearest person into a bloody pulp. He took to spending more and more time alone, in the Dark Forest when the weather was warm, or, on the chillier, stormier days, down in the dungeons where he and Hermione had once practiced Occlumency. Solitude was a respite; he couldn't stand the pity in the eyes of his new friends amongst the D.A., and he wasn't willing to answer the questions his Slytherin Housemates didn't have the courage to ask.

The morning after his parents' murder, Draco had remained in the hospital wing under Nurse Pomfrey's supervision. She had released everyone else, even Ginny (whose broken arm had by then been mended), to go back to classes, but Draco, the nurse had insisted after taking one look at his chalk-white face, needed to rest.

Thanks to a sleeping draught brought to him personally by Professor Slughorn ("It's a specialty of mine," the portly old man had declared kindly, patting the top of Draco's blonde head, "better than a snifter of brandy and a good cigar"), Draco had slept the day away while his schoolmates buzzed with the news, reported in bold letters on the front page of that morning's _Daily Prophet, _that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were dead.

Murdered, to be precise.

_The Quibbler _actually came a lot closer to the truth of the Malfoys' deaths than _The Prophet. _The mainstream newspaper reported what it had been fed by Voldemort's plants at the Ministry: Narcissa Malfoy had thrown her lot in with Harry Potter against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; when her husband had discovered her treachery, she had killed him in a vain attempt to save herself, only to be cut down by You-Know-Who. _The Prophet _made no mention of Ollivander's rescue or any Hogwarts student's presence at Malfoy Manor that night, including Potter or Draco. _The Quibbler _didn't report those details either_, _for that matter, but Luna's father did quote an anonymous source who claimed that Narcissa and Lucius had both secretly turned against You-Know-Who and had died in a murder-suicide, protecting one another from torture at the Death Eaters' hands.

Draco, of course, knew the real truth. That evening, Potter, Hermione, Ginny, Weasley and Luna had come to the hospital wing to visit him, and Draco, the only time in his life when he would ever tell the story of his parents' murder from start to finish, had relayed what had actually happened to them, complete with Snape's role in the tale. Luna had sat beside him on his cot, her fingers twined with his; on the cot across from them, Potter, his face mirroring the tumultuous emotions Draco did his best to keep hidden, had sat between Ginny and Hermione, both of whom cried quietly. Weasley had stood awkwardly off to one side, his arms folded across his chest, looking like he didn't know how to feel sorry for someone he despised as much as Draco.

Draco didn't edit much. Still groggy from Slughorn's potion (or perhaps deadened by grief), he had spoken almost in monotone, telling them how his mother had made him pretend to be Imperiused; how he believed his parents had come to a silent, mutual agreement that a quick death would be much better than lingering at Voldemort's hands; how Lucius had given Narcissa a chance to steal her sister's wand; how Narcissa had then killed Lucius; how Snape had then killed Narcissa.

He could see that Potter wasn't so quick to give Snape the benefit of the doubt, but Draco didn't care. He didn't blame the Head of Slytherin House for his mother's death. Draco knew what Yaxley and the Carrows and even his aunt and uncle would have done to Narcissa if she had survived. What Snape had done was merciful compared to that. More to the point, Draco was convinced it was what his mother had silently asked Snape to do, when she'd looked at him over Voldemort's shoulder in her final moments.

If anyone was to blame for his parents' deaths, Draco believed it was only himself.

He hadn't mentioned that to Potter and company – he hadn't even admitted it to Luna – nor had he told them about Snape making the Unbreakable Vow with his mother, because that would have meant revealing to someone besides Potter what Voldemort had tasked Draco to do. The others would find out about that mission soon enough, Draco had decided, as the school year was drawing to a close and Dumbledore had given him permission to carry out his ghastly orders.

Draco had no idea what story his Housemates believed, as he had not mentioned his parents' deaths to a single one of them. When he'd returned to the Slytherin common room later that next night, silence had instantly fallen; to a person, everyone had looked at the floor. Draco had marched straight through to the dormitory without a word to any of them.

Although he knew they had questions about where he had been the night of his parents' murders, and more importantly about whether Draco still numbered amongst Voldemort's favorites, most of the Slytherins continued to treat Draco with a wary respect. Whatever rumors might have been generated by Zabini (who still seemed to have an inside line on the Death Eaters' doings), the Dark Mark on Draco's arm was enough to persuade the majority of his Housemates that they didn't want Draco for an enemy. They were biding their time, waiting to see if he would turn out to be loyal to Voldemort, or if he would suffer the same fate as his parents.

Not even Zabini had the guts to do more than whisper behind Draco's back.

With his friends from the D.A. it was quite a different story, though Draco thought he almost preferred his Housemates' cold indifference to his new friends' solicitousness. Ginny, Longbottom, Potter and Luna seemed to be the only ones who got that Draco did not want to talk about his parents, did not want to be asked a dozen times a day if he was all right, did not want to be treated as if he might shatter into a million pieces if someone looked sideways at him. Draco supposed Longbottom, Potter and Luna, having each lost one or both parents (Longbottom perhaps in the worst way of them all, as his parents continued to suffer the living death of insanity), could relate to what he was going through. For her part, Ginny simply wasn't a maudlin sort of person, and Draco really liked her because of that.

Weasley and Hermione reacted quite differently to Draco's situation. Weasley, along with most male members of the D.A., just got quiet whenever Draco was around, like they were afraid their usual boisterousness would be inappropriate around a grieving orphan and so subsided into uncomfortable silence. It was obvious that Weasley in particular, now that he couldn't go on being rude to Draco, had absolutely no idea what to say to him. Draco wasn't sure what to say to Weasley, either. There had been a moment in his parents' cellar, after he'd knocked Weasley out of the way of a Killing Curse, when the opportunity to be something less than enemies had presented itself, but Draco couldn't bring himself to try with Weasley anymore – it was simply too much effort, and he was so tired, all the time.

Hermione, on the other hand, was constantly fussing over Draco. She seemed to make it her personal mission to ensure that he was eating, sleeping, finishing his homework, and generally "looking after himself," as he heard her put it to Ginny in the hallway ("I'm afraid he's not looking after himself – do you see those dark circles under his eyes? And he's _not_ eating"). She meant well, except the last thing Draco wanted was to be singled out for special attention at the moment.

He just wanted to be left alone.

After about two weeks of moody silences accompanied by sharp outbursts of temper, Draco started to get his wish: People began avoiding him. Even Hermione got the hint after her every considerate gesture was met with a baleful glare and stony silence.

With most people, Draco was simply removed, but with Hermione, he was downright frigid. He still hadn't forgiven her for choosing Weasley over Potter. He didn't care that the two weren't openly together – in fact, they seemed terribly awkward around one another, when Draco could pull himself out of his stupor long enough to notice – nor did it matter much to Draco that Potter seemed to be spending increasing amounts of time with Ginny as the Quidditch Cup approached. Draco needed someone to be angry with, and Hermione was an easy target.

And then there was Luna.

Luna didn't push herself on Draco, and for that, he was thankful. He never lost his temper with her; no matter how black a mood he was in, it never occurred to him to be hateful or short with Luna. She, in turn, didn't press him to talk about his feelings or suggest that he was taking too long to get over his loss or complain about him spending so little time with her. She was just there, sweet and sunny and accepting, running on in her usual airy way about Nargles and Wrackspurts and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Heliopaths and all the other nonsense her father wrote about. Draco loved her more every day for simply being herself, regardless of the loss Draco had suffered, perhaps even more so because he knew their time together was drawing to a close.

In fact, Draco spent more time with Luna than anyone else as the school year wound down to its final days. Like all the fifth-years, Luna was swamped with studying for her upcoming O.W.L.s. Most evenings would find the two of them in the library, side-by-side on the couch where, in happier times, they would study with Potter and Hermione. Whether it was because of Draco's unpleasant disposition these days, or because Weasley was back in the picture, or because the three heroes were caught up in their plans to go hunt Horcruxes, Hermione and Potter stayed away.

Draco didn't know what the trio did or where they went, and he didn't ask. He and Luna were on a quest of their own: They had made it their personal mission to discover the location of the Elder Wand. Luna had written to her father, asking him to set down for her everything he knew about the Deathly Hallows; she hadn't told him why, but apparently Xenophilius had come to the conclusion that his daughter was finally showing interest in his life-long obsession, because two days later an owl had arrived from Flourish and Blotts with practically every book ever published on the Deathly Hallows. Most of them were children's books, though there were a few historical accounts of the wizarding world that treated the Elder Wand legend as more valid than Draco had imagined possible from anyone who didn't read _The Quibbler_.

It was through those books that Draco and Luna were able to trace the bloody history of the Elder Wand from its first owner, Antioch Peverell, down through the ages to the Bulgarian wandmaker Gregorovitch, a great rival of Ollivander's. At that point, Draco began to suspect he knew why Voldemort had kidnapped Ollivander: He hadn't just been looking to learn more about wandlore; he'd been looking for information about Gregorovitch, about whether Ollivander believed his old rival had really possessed the Elder Wand and where the Bulgarian wandmaker might be found these days.

Their investigation seemed to hit a dead-end with that question. The last recorded owner of the Elder Wand was Gregorovitch, and shortly before the Dark Lord's return, he had retired. Where he was now, and how to get in touch with him, Draco didn't know. Luna, hopeful as ever, suggested they write to Mr. Ollivander and ask if he could tell them more. Ollivander (who, so far as the rest of the world knew, remained a prisoner of Voldemort's) was now in hiding somewhere, courtesy of the Order of the Phoenix. But Luna was sure Weasley's father could get a message through to him, and she promised to write Mr. Weasley to see if he would help them.

Draco didn't say as much to Luna, because he saw no reason to dash her hopes, yet he was beginning to believe the search for the Elder Wand was a lost cause. The only good thing about that, he supposed, was that Voldemort might never find it.

Maybe, no matter what Dumbledore had hinted, it didn't even exist.

It was the day after the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, at which Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup, when Potter sent for Draco.

Hermione was the one who came to fetch him, actually. Draco was sitting on a rock beside the lake, skipping small stones across the water. Despite the gorgeous weather, almost everyone else was inside either recovering from the Gryffindor victory party or studying for exams. Draco didn't have any appetite for Quidditch these days, and he couldn't have cared less if he failed every subject.

Things like Quidditch and school that had once seemed so terribly important in Draco's life had simply ceased to matter with his parents' deaths. Soon, Dumbledore would be gone, Snape would be Headmaster, and Draco would be the Prince of Slytherin House whether he passed a single exam this term or not. He saw no reason to try, no reason to focus on anything other than Luna, whom he would have to give up soon enough, and on his revenge, which was the force that got him out of bed in the mornings.

"Harry's looking for you."

Draco turned toward the sound of Hermione's voice, startled to see her standing there on the rocky shore, hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans, watching him warily. He hadn't been alone with her since before his parents had died. In point of fact, he hadn't even spoken to her in over two weeks.

"So tell him where I am," he answered moodily.

"He's asked for you to come up to the Astronomy Tower."

Draco pushed off the rock and walked closer to the water, deliberately turning his back on Hermione. "Well, you can tell the Chosen One I don't feel much like being summoned right now."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione place her hands on her hips and fix him with a piercing glare. In spite of himself, Draco had to fight down a smile.

_About time she shows a bit of spirit._

"Exactly how long are you planning to act like this?"

"Act like what? Myself?" Draco challenged.

Hermione didn't rise to the bait, didn't agree or disagree that Draco was simply letting his true colors shine through. Instead, she tried a different tactic, though her voice was still strained with barely-suppressed annoyance.

"Look, Draco, I'm terribly sorry for what happened to your parents. I can understand if you just want us all to go away. But what I don't understand is what I've done to make you so angry at me."

Flinging another stone across the water, Draco returned mildly, "You can't think of a single thing you've done, is that right, Granger?"

"No, I can't." Hermione's lips were pursed into a taut, angry line. "So you can either tell me what your problem is, or you can get over it."

Draco knew it was wrong to act this way. He knew Hermione deserved better than his petulance. But there was part of him that was so angry, all the time – and that part was suddenly spoiling for a fight.

So, turning to face her, Draco trotted out his most disdainful sneer and declared, "I saw you snogging Weasley. Before we went to rescue Ollivander."

Hermione flushed a pretty shade of pink. "You were spying on me?"

"Hardly," Draco snorted, kneeling to pick up another handful of stones. He flung them one by one into the lake, expertly skipping them across the dark surface. "It's not my fault you decided to have a go in the middle of a public hallway. Believe me," he added acidly, "I could've gone my whole life without seeing that."

To his surprise, Hermione laughed – a mirthless laugh, full of anger and…something else, something that sounded almost like pain.

"If you're going to go sticking your nose in my business, you might at least try getting your facts straight. I didn't kiss Ron."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "I saw you. He was – you were – "

Well, all right, to be honest, he supposed he hadn't actually _seen _them kiss. But that had clearly been Weasley's intention, and Hermione hadn't exactly been fighting him off when Draco had quit watching.

"Not that it's any of your business," Hermione bit out, her eyes flashing, "but Ron did try to kiss me that night, and I told him to stop."

Wishing he'd never brought it up, Draco cast about for a dignified way out of the hole he'd just dug for himself. "You're right," he said coolly, dropping the stones and drying his damp, sandy hands on his jeans. "It's none of my business."

Hermione was not about to let him off that easy, he could see that by the stubborn set to her jaw. "Since you brought it up," she returned wickedly, "care to explain why the idea of me with Ron would be so upsetting to you?"

_Should have just kept playing the grief card. Now you're in it._

Gritting his teeth, Draco leaned back against the tall black rock he'd been sitting on before Hermione came. He forced himself to meet her offended gaze as he confessed, "Because of Potter."

"I…Sorry?" Hermione shook her head, like she was certain she hadn't heard him correctly. "What's Harry got to do with this?"

"Don't be thick, Granger. Potter fancies you."

Hermione turned pink again. She really was pretty when she blushed, Draco thought.

"I-I don't think so. At least, not anymore. Maybe for a little while he might've, when Ron was…But Ron's friendship is too important to Harry. He wouldn't risk it."

She looked away, staring out over the lake. Draco could tell she wanted to go on being angry at him for how rudely he'd treated her these past weeks; in spite of herself, she was confiding in him again, and he could see she didn't want to, probably because she feared he'd start making snide comments again any minute.

Draco sighed. His anger had bled out of him again, leaving him tired and sullen. He didn't want to fight with Hermione anymore. He felt guilty for being such a jerk, though he wasn't quite sure how to go about saying that – apologies still didn't come naturally to Draco, regardless of how much he'd changed since befriending Luna and her comrades.

Instead, he said simply, "You're too good for the both of them."

Hermione's blush deepened. She grated an irritated glance toward him. "Sometimes I think you're a real ass, you know that?"

"Sometimes I am a real ass," Draco shrugged.

"Ugh!" Hermione picked up a handful of small pebbles and pelted Draco with them.

Crying out in surprise, he turned his back – the stones were too little to hurt, but still – and shouted, "Have you lost your bloody mind, Granger?"

"I. Do. Not. Understand. Boys." Hermione punctuated each word by flinging a pebble at him, until she ran out of missiles. Looking warily at her over his shoulder, Draco held up his hands in surrender as she went on, exasperated, "One minute you can be so-so-so _impossible_, and the next minute you're just-just…"

"Decent?"

Hermione laughed. The sound was so rich with happiness, recalling a time when things had, oddly enough, been easier in their friendship (yes, Draco could admit it, he was friends with Hermione Granger, the Mudblood know-it-all), Draco felt a smile tug up the corner of his mouth in response.

When was the last time he had smiled? He couldn't even remember.

Hermione must have been thinking the same thing, because she suddenly came forward and took his hands in hers.

"You can talk to me," she told him softly. "I know you're not strong all the time."

It was tempting, Draco had to admit, but he shook his head, blinking away the tears that abruptly pricked his eyes. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because." He drew in a shaky breath and blew it out, gazing over the top of her head, unable to meet her eyes. "Because I have to get better at not feeling anything."

Hermione let go of his hands. She didn't appear angry – just disappointed.

"It's always secrets with you, isn't it?"

Draco smirked at her. "Your life an open book, Granger? Nothing you and Potter are keeping from me?"

Rather than firing up at that, Hermione reminded him, "Maybe that's why Harry wants to talk to you, ever think about that?"

Draco felt a tingle of apprehension. Honestly, he'd never expected Potter to bring him in on the secret of the Horcruxes. Draco hadn't bothered trying to find out more about them; Dumbledore had made it pretty clear that the information wasn't to be found at Hogwarts, likely not even in the Restricted Section, and Draco had decided to let Potter handle that angle while he worked on finding the Elder Wand. It had never occurred to him that Potter might really do what he'd heard Hermione suggest to Weasley that evening in the seventh-floor corridor – that Potter might ask Draco to join him in hunting for Horcruxes.

Was it possible? Could Potter trust him that much?

_He knows what it's like to lose everything to Voldemort. We're both on our own now, aren't we? It makes sense he'd trust me more than he did before._

Walking alongside Hermione as they made their way up to the castle, Draco found himself thinking about the choices Potter faced. The girl beside him represented one of those choices, Draco realized: He wasn't convinced, as Hermione seemed to be, that Potter would give her up over Weasley; after all, Potter hadn't exactly welcomed Weasley back with open arms after Christmas, in large part because of Hermione.

"If Potter wasn't the Chosen One," Draco asked Hermione now, out of real curiosity, "do you think things would be different between you?"

Hermione twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "I don't know, honestly. Being 'the Chosen One' is so much a part of who Harry is, I can't imagine him any other way."

"So you wouldn't want it to be different? For him not to be the Chosen One?"

"For Harry's sake, I would," Hermione answered automatically. "But just so things might be different with us?" She shook her head. "No. What we're doing, fighting You-Know-Who, that matters more than anything else." She grinned darkly. "Harry doesn't think I get that, but I do."

Her words struck a chord with Draco. As usual, Hermione was right. None of them could afford to be selfish now; whatever personal sacrifices they had to make, they just had to make them. All that mattered was stopping Voldemort.

All at once, Draco knew what he had to do – and what he couldn't. He couldn't go with Potter on his quest. He couldn't even let Potter tell him what that quest was all about. Instead, Draco had to do the hideous deed Dumbledore had asked of him. He had to trust that Dumbledore, at least, had seen the way to end Voldemort's reign, once and for all; he had to believe that Dumbledore knew the key to Potter's victory, and somehow, much as he would have liked to be one of the heroes, Draco knew he wasn't going to fight this battle out in the open, shield-to-shield with Potter. His role would be behind the scenes, where he might die without anyone, including Potter, ever knowing the sacrifices Draco had really made.

It was a harder decision than it should have been for Draco, who had by then lost nearly everything that really mattered to him – his parents, and along with them his dreams for his future and his desire to simply be left out of the madness surrounding them all. He found it so difficult for two reasons. The first, and he found it surprisingly easy to admit this to himself now, was Potter himself. Draco liked Potter. He wasn't slavishly devoted to him like the Creevey brothers; he wasn't even close to him, like Hermione and Weasley. What Draco felt for Potter was both different and deeper than that. He respected him.

Draco didn't just want to see Potter win. He wanted to see him be free, because the truth was, Potter hadn't asked to be chosen anymore than Draco had. They were both trapped, and if only one of them could survive, Draco thought it should be Potter, because ultimately, Potter was the better man. At the same time, he wished that he could earn even a small portion of Potter's respect in return; by killing Dumbledore, Draco realized he was likely giving up any chance of that ever happening.

The second reason, of course, was Luna. Draco knew he had to stop dragging things out with her, pretending that the end would never come. In a few days, she would be finished with her O.W.L.s, and then he had to do what he should have done the night his parents died.

He had to end it.

Draco had to walk away, give up the one tether holding him to a life that could never be his while Voldemort lived. He had to give up the one thing he loved most so he could become what he would need to be in order to stop the Dark Lord.

"Miss Lovegood?"

Luna looked up in surprise from her breakfast to find Professor McGonagall standing at her elbow. "Yes, Professor?" she asked lightly, quickly swallowing a sip of pumpkin juice.

"I need to see you in my office, right away."

Padma Patil anxiously watched Luna get to her feet. "Luna, you don't suppose – I mean, your father…"

_You will not think that way._

"I'm sure everything's fine," Luna replied, doing her best to maintain her usual serenity. "I'll see you later."

Trailing along behind McGonagall, Luna willed herself to stave off the awful scenes that wanted to play out in her mind. This had become all too familiar a sight – a teacher summoning a student to her or his office, to be informed in private of the death of some family member. Hannah and Draco were the only students to have a parent murdered thus far, but aunts, uncles, cousins, even siblings of other students had all been killed.

In Luna's case, the only person she had left was her dad. Maybe Draco had been right to worry about _The Quibbler _printing the real truth of You-Know-Who's activities. Maybe she should have asked her dad to stop…

"Here we are." McGonagall stopped outside her office, holding the door open for Luna, who regarded her curiously.

"Aren't you coming in, Professor?"

"I think you'll want some privacy." McGonagall smiled mysteriously, instantly allaying all of Luna's fears: If Luna's father had been killed, McGonagall would not have been smiling.

Stepping into the office, Luna did a double-take, then broke into a radiant smile. Standing in front of Professor McGonagall's desk, still ancient-looking but far healthier than the last time she had seen him, was Mr. Ollivander.

"Mr. Ollivander!" Luna cried, as McGonagall closed the door behind her. She skipped across the room to stand in front of the old wandmaker, beaming up at him. "You look wonderful!"

Mr. Ollivander chuckled. It was a dry, papery sound, suggesting his voice wasn't used to being employed for laughter. "I look old, my dear, but you are kind. Just like your mother."

Luna had heard Mr. Ollivander claim that he remembered every wand he'd ever sold, and gazing into his wise old eyes, she didn't doubt it. "Your mother," he went on, "was an extraordinary witch. I knew the day I sold her first wand to her that she would do wonderful things with it. And I hoped it would prove the same with you. It seems," he concluded with a wry grin, "I have not been disappointed, if your message was any indication."

"Mr. Weasley spoke with you?" Luna felt a rush of warmth for Ron's dad.

Nodding, Mr. Ollivander cautioned, "But I must tell you, child, the Elder Wand is not something one should seek lightly."

"Oh, I'm not seeking it for me," Luna assured the wandmaker quickly. He arched an eyebrow. "I'm really not. I just don't want You-Know-Who to have it."

She didn't add that Draco wanted to turn it over to Harry. She knew that was his plan; she wasn't entirely sure she agreed with it, however. Luna believed powerful objects like the Elder Wand needed to be wielded with care. Harry was a good person through-and-through, easily the best person Luna had ever known, but from everything she had read, it took a tremendous force of will for someone to possess the Elder Wand without being corrupted by its power.

If it meant the difference between Harry winning or losing, of course, Luna wanted him to have the Elder Wand. Unlike Draco, though, she wasn't convinced that the Deathstick would decide Harry's fate. Luna tended to believe Harry already had everything he needed to defeat You-Know-Who: courage, wisdom, talent, compassion, and love. If she had her way, the Elder Wand would be hidden somewhere no one could ever find it, until its last master died a natural death and its terrible power was ended.

Perhaps Mr. Ollivander read the truth of that in her expression, because he appraised her with a suddenly critical eye. "Well," he mused, "in that case, I suppose you _are _a most unusual witch, my dear. To desire only the power to protect others, that is something I haven't come across very often in my many years as a wandmaker."

"But you know where it is?" Luna pressed hopefully.

To her disappointment, Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. However," he added, with a twinkle in his pale eyes, "I do have a theory."

They settled into two large, cushioned chairs beside the windows while Mr. Ollivander told Luna much that she and Draco had already learned from the books her dad had sent. She let the wandmaker talk, fascinated by how he told the story – it was clear he worshipped the Elder Wand, a feeling Luna didn't share, but one she could understand given Mr. Ollivander's lifelong pursuit of wandmaking – and also courteous enough to realize that a lonely old man like Mr. Ollivander was enjoying the chance just to talk.

After a while, Mr. Ollivander came around to something Luna didn't know. "When Gregorovitch began putting out that he had come into possession of the Elder Wand, I, like everyone else, was skeptical. But his wandmaking did change after that. It pains me to say it, but in those years, my old rival created some truly amazing wands. I couldn't help speculating, as did many others, that he was studying the properties of the Elder Wand, and basing his own creations upon what he learned.

"And then, one day, things went back to normal," Mr. Ollivander concluded, somewhat smugly, Luna thought. "A Gregorovitch wand was as mediocre as it had ever been. I suspected at the time that something must have happened, that perhaps he became frightened of what he was discovering in his study of the Elder Wand and decided to give up his experiments. It was only many years later that I happened to speak to his granddaughter, and she told me that her grandfather hadn't given up on the Elder Wand. That in fact he had always been obsessed with it – particularly after it was stolen from him."

A thrill of excitement ran through Luna. "Did she know who took it?"

"No," Mr. Ollivander replied, dashing Luna's hopes once more. He patted her hand. "Don't look so disappointed, child! I told you, I don't have all the answers, but I do have a theory."

Luna perked back up. Her smile earned her another rusty chuckle from the old man.

"I asked the young woman what year her grandfather lost the Elder Wand, and do you know what she told me?" Luna shook her head. "It was only a few years before Gellert Grindelwald began his reign of terror."

Luna frowned, unimpressed. Mr. Ollivander sensed that, for he chided her gently, "The name Gellert Grindelwald doesn't receive nearly the respect it should from you young people! Whisper 'You-Know-Who' to someone of your age, and they shudder with fear. Shout 'Grindelwald,' and people barely react.

"But he was evil," Mr. Ollivander insisted, his voice darkening, a cloud passing across his wrinkled face. "Time was, people feared Grindelwald and his army the way they do You-Know-Who's Death Eaters now. Oh, he stayed away from Britain, on account of Dumbledore of course, but there are places in this world, my dear, where the name Grindelwald is not used anymore than we would say the name of the Dark Lord."

Considering that, Luna tried to piece together what Mr. Ollivander was telling her. According to Gregorovitch's granddaughter, her grandfather's prized possession, the Elder Wand, had been stolen not long before Gellert Grindelwald rose to power. She didn't know much about Grindelwald – all anybody really cared about was that Dumbledore had beaten him – but she did recall her dad telling her once that the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been the greatest the wizarding world had ever known.

Was it possible? Could Grindelwald have been the master of the Elder Wand? Was that why he had been nearly as powerful as Dumbledore, the greatest wizard ever to live?

_But if that's true, that would mean…_

Mr. Ollivander smiled triumphantly as he watched understanding dawn on Luna's face. "Now you see," he said softly. "Now you see why I refused to give this information to the Dark Lord, no matter what tortures he subjected me to."

Impulsively, Luna reached out and hugged the old man. After a startled moment, he patted her gently on the back.

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." Luna kissed the wandmaker's wrinkled cheek. "I wish I had some way to repay you…Would you like a free subscription to _The Quibbler_?"

"No, thank you, child. Perhaps," he requested, almost shyly, "when all of this is over, you can come visit me, and we can talk some more?"

"I'd like that," Luna answered honestly. Mr. Ollivander was odd, and she wasn't sure she liked how much stock he put in power, whether it was wielded for good or for evil, but he had suffered for Harry's sake. And he had risked his own life by coming out of hiding to talk to her. All of that counted for quite a lot with Luna.

Skipping back down the corridor toward the Great Hall a few minutes later, Luna couldn't wait to find Draco and tell him what she'd discovered.

If Mr. Ollivander was right, they no longer needed to worry about You-Know-Who getting his hands on the Elder Wand. The only way he could do that would be to defeat Dumbledore, and Luna was supremely confident that would never happen.

Potter was waiting for Draco on top of the Astronomy Tower, as Hermione had said, leaning against the railing and gazing out over the grounds. Walking out into the warm mid-morning sunshine to join him, Draco couldn't help thinking about the last time they'd been up here together, when he'd first asked Potter for his help.

Funny how much things could change in less than a year.

"You and Hermione seem to be getting on better," Potter greeted him, with something of a knowing smirk.

Draco frowned. So that's what Potter had been up to, sending Hermione to fetch him – the Chosen One wasn't too good to run his own errands; he was playing peacemaker.

Not about to give Potter the satisfaction of acknowledging how pleased he was to be friends with Hermione once more, Draco ignored the comment and returned sourly, "You called?"

Potter ignored his acid tone. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Did you clear this with Weasley?" Draco honestly wasn't trying to be difficult. He knew it had taken a lot for Potter to call him up here, to trust him with the secret of the Horcruxes, and even more for him to seriously consider adding Draco to his little band of heroes. But the last thing he wanted was another feud with Weasley – in his present state, Draco wasn't sure he could control his temper if Ginny's brother started baiting him.

"Hermione and Ron and I agreed to this, yeah," Potter assured him.

Draco was trying to figure out the best strategy for shutting Potter down without coming across as a complete ass (which he didn't think was necessary, and might make Luna mad at him) while Potter began, "So you know I've been taking private lessons with Dumbledore this year."

Draco nodded.

"We've been looking into Voldemort's past. Dumbledore thinks there's a reason Voldemort didn't die the night he killed my parents. A reason he was able to come back, even after he'd lost all his power."

In spite of himself, Draco was tempted to let Potter go on. The mystery of the Dark Lord's survival had also eaten at Draco: For most of his life, up until the Triwizard Tournament actually, Draco, like his father, had believed Voldemort was gone forever, most likely dead. Ever since Voldemort had reclaimed his throne, Draco had wondered how that was possible. How could someone survive a Killing Curse? Potter himself was a miracle; what most people didn't seem to consider was that Voldemort, too, was a miracle, because his own rebounded Curse should have ended him, for good.

"Dumbledore's been collecting memories," Potter went on. "About what Voldemort was doing in the years before he came to power. I've been helping him. Pretty soon, we're going to go looking for…something that could bring an end to Voldemort once and for all."

Draco cleared his throat. He kept his eyes on the distant Forest as he said quietly, "I don't think you ought to tell me anymore."

He felt Potter watching him curiously. "Why not?"

"Because I know what you're going to ask," Draco answered, working hard to keep his voice emotionless. "I heard Granger and Weasley going on about not letting you run off on your own a few weeks ago, and Granger telling Weasley he needed to be okay with it if you asked me to come along."

Potter stiffened. "So you already know about – "

"I didn't hear them say what it was all about," Draco lied quickly. He didn't want Potter to think he knew anything about Horcruxes; soon, the Chosen One would have enough to worry about without fearing that Draco was going to spill that particular secret to the Dark Lord. "But I can figure it has something to do with whatever Dumbledore's found out about bringing Voldemort down for good. And I can figure you're about to ask me to come along."

Potter confirmed both of those things with a nod.

"Well," Draco declared, turning to face Potter, "I'm not interested."

Looking torn between disdain for what he no doubt perceived as cowardice and disbelief, Potter stammered, "But Voldemort…He killed your parents."

_Always delicate, that's our hero._

"I recall," Draco rejoined coolly. Potter colored a little, obviously regretting how unfeeling his words had been. Draco went on, "I'm not you, Potter. Voldemort killed my parents, but I'm not destined to fight him. The only reason I didn't run before, when he ordered me to kill Dumbledore in the first place, was because I wanted to protect my family. I don't have to worry about that anymore."

Potter's expression changed – softened, really. "I didn't think about it that way."

"I know what you thought. You thought the school year's ending, and Dumbledore's still alive, and Voldemort's going to be hunting me down for that, so since I'm going to have to leave here anyway, you wanted to give me a chance to take my revenge. That about cover it?"

Grinning slightly, Potter nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"It's very decent of you, Potter," Draco remarked openly, perhaps the most honest – and kind – thing he had ever said to his old enemy. "But it's not necessary. My parents left me quite well off, and I've already made arrangements to disappear once exams are over."

He watched Potter take that in, watched the Chosen One struggle between relief (whether because Draco would be safe or because he wouldn't be joining their quest after all, Draco didn't know, though he liked to think it was the former) and what looked suspiciously like jealousy. It took a lot for Draco not to grin darkly at that: Here was Potter, thinking Draco had been offered the best possible option under the circumstances – the option to walk away – when in truth, Draco was about to dive in as deeply as one could go to fight the Dark Lord.

"What about Luna?"

Draco wasn't surprised that Potter's first thought would be for Luna, since Draco knew she was very important to Potter. "I haven't told her yet," he admitted.

"Are you going to take her with you?"

"Into hiding?" Draco shook his head. "I couldn't put her in that kind of danger, Potter. I'd think you of all people could understand that."

Potter looked away, and Draco wondered which girl he was thinking of, Ginny or Hermione – or maybe both. "Well," he said, after a brief silence, "I guess you know what you're doing."

"Dumbledore approves."

That settled it with Potter, as Draco had known it would: If Dumbledore had given Draco his blessing, Potter wouldn't question it. "I'd like to wait, to tell the others," Draco continued. "I want to talk to Luna first, but not before her O.W.L.s. Assuming the world doesn't end in a few months," he added lightly, "she might have a chance of graduating, even if we don't."

A real grin spread across Potter's face then. "You know, if you'd told me when I first heard of Hogwarts that I'd ever leave this place a moment before I had to, I'd have told you that was crazy."

"Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts," Draco agreed, with an answering grin. "The place does sort of grow on you, doesn't it?"

"It's been home to me." Potter blushed a bit, obviously wishing he hadn't shared quite so much. He quickly pushed back from the rail and made to go back inside, now that they had nothing left to discuss.

"Well," he offered slowly, "I guess this is goodbye, then. I, uh, I hope you stay safe."

"I'll miss you too, Potter," Draco quipped, shaking the hand his old enemy offered.

Watching Potter walk away, knowing he had just closed off the last possible avenue of escape from the terrible deed of murdering Dumbledore, Draco reminded himself that what he was doing, following the path Dumbledore had laid out before him, was best for everyone involved – including Potter. _What we're doing, fighting You-Know-Who, that matters more than anything else, _Hermione had said. And Draco had to believe that she was right.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five: Already Gone

Luna's note said to meet her in the Owlery.

Draco climbed those steps like a condemned man marching to his execution. He knew it was coming; he knew it needed to happen; he knew it would hurt Luna less if he ended things now, let her get used to the idea of him not being around. But he still didn't want to say goodbye.

She was waiting with her back to the staircase, stroking the snow-white feathers of Potter's beautiful owl, Hedwig. Draco lingered in the doorway a moment, drinking in the sight of her: blond curls tumbling down her back; slender legs, wrapped in black tights, sticking out from beneath a very fetching cranberry-colored dress; heart-shaped chin and long nose in profile, a dreamy smile perpetually playing on her soft, kissable lips.

He tried to memorize her, just like this, so later, he would be able to recall her exactly as she had been in this moment, when she was still his.

"My mum had an owl."

Draco hadn't realized Luna was aware of his presence until she spoke. She turned to smile brightly at him. He crossed to stand beside her, tentatively placing a hand on Hedwig's back, next to but not touching Luna's. The owl cooed.

Luna never talked about her mother. At one time, that had struck Draco as odd. Now, he understood: No matter how much time passed, the pain of losing a parent would never really go away.

"What was her owl's name?" he asked, because he was curious about Luna's mother, and because he wanted to put off the inevitable for just a few more minutes.

"Persephone. Mum adored her," Luna smiled, her topaz eyes far away. "She found her in the woods behind our house with a broken wing, but she was able to Heal her."

"That's right," Draco remembered. "Your mum studied Magizoology, didn't she?"

Luna beamed, clearly pleased that he had heard of her mother. Actually, an old memory, long forgotten, had at that very moment occurred to Draco: His own mother, tossing _The Quibbler _into the trash and muttering what a load of rubbish it had become without Eostara Lovegood's touch.

"She was a Healer for magical creatures," Luna clarified. They were both focused on Hedwig; the owl was fluttering its snowy wings in paroxysms of birdly delight. "People used to write her and Dad from all over, wanting her to publish her Healing tonics in Dad's paper. And they sent her creatures from everywhere. She was particularly good with unicorns, but she took care of all kinds of beings, even a Thestral once."

Luna looked suddenly wistful. "She always loved things that could fly."

Draco stopped stroking Hedwig and turned to face Luna. She dropped her hands to her sides but continued gazing out into the chill, gray spring clouds. He didn't think he had ever seen her look so sad; her ethereal calm only heightened the pain etched plainly across her lovely features.

Because he couldn't stand to see her hurt, Draco took Luna's hand in his – her fingers were icy, making him wonder how long she had been up here, alone – and asked, "You wanted to talk to me?"

Shaking her head as if to clear her mind of dark memories, Luna was suddenly her airy, cheerful self once more. "I had a visitor yesterday," she began, adding teasingly, "while you were off making up with Hermione, I hear."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I should've known Granger would come straight to you with that story."

"I think it's good you're not angry at her anymore."

Luna never thought anybody should be mad at anybody, in Draco's opinion, but he had to agree, even though he had turned down Potter's invitation to accompany the trio on the Horcrux hunt, it was a relief not to be carrying around the burden of his irrational anger toward Hermione anymore. In fact, today Draco had felt more like himself than he had since before his parents' death. Maybe it was Potter and Hermione treating him like everything was normal, which seemed to be a clue to everyone else to stop speaking in hushed tones around Draco. Or maybe it was Weasley being somewhat friendly – now that he knew Draco wouldn't be coming along on the Horcrux hunt, he seemed to feel he could manage being nice for a couple more weeks. Or maybe it was simply having made his mind up, once and for all, about the path ahead of him. In any event, Draco sensed he was finally climbing up out of the long, steep tunnel of grief he'd tumbled down.

He still had a long way to go, of course. Nevertheless, it was nice to feel that something like normalcy might be his again one day, even if it wouldn't come until Voldemort was dead.

"So tell me about this visitor," Draco prompted, and then listened with rapt attention while Luna relayed to him the story Ollivander had come to Hogwarts to tell her.

He had to admit, Ollivander's theory made a lot of sense. Gregorovitch had stopped bragging about being the owner of the Elder Wand not too terribly long before Grindelwald's rise to power, and Dumbledore had seemed blithely unconcerned when Draco had mentioned Voldemort's hunt for the Deathstick the night of the Malfoys' murders: _"I happen to know a little something about the history of the Elder Wand, and I can assure you, for the time being it is far beyond Voldemort's grasp," _Dumbledore had said.

But if that was the case – if Dumbledore was the master of the Elder Wand – then, Draco realized, a knot of fear lodging beneath his heart, and Dumbledore had arranged for Draco to kill him, that meant Dumbledore intended _Draco _to take possession of the Elder Wand.

While Luna dreamily stroked Hedwig's feathers, giving Draco time to process what she had learned from Ollivander, he ran back over every conversation he'd had with the Headmaster in the past year.

_"It's a terrible thing to contemplate, of course. Murder, I mean. And it's not something I would ask anyone to consider lightly. But you see, it wouldn't really be murder, because I'm already dying."_

If the Elder Wand passed from master to master through violence, what would happen if the Wand's current master willingly surrendered it? If Dumbledore surrendered to Draco, allowing himself to be killed rather than fighting for his life, would the Wand's power be broken? Or would that power still pass to Draco?

Knowing Dumbledore's ardent belief in the power of love, Draco suspected he knew the answer to that. Obviously, Dumbledore couldn't be sure, but he had said something else to Draco, something that had stuck with him all these dark, difficult months:

_"You're not the first young man upon whose shoulders I've had to place a tremendous weight this year, Draco. And, as with that other remarkable young man, it is because you don't desire power that I must ask you to wield it."_

At the time, Draco had thought Dumbledore meant the "power" of being Voldemort's second-in-command. Now, he wondered if he had been mistaken. Could the power Dumbledore wanted to surrender to him be the Elder Wand? Was that Dumbledore's plan: Potter would go after the Horcruxes, a magic so evil Dumbledore refused to let any Hogwarts student be taught about them, while Draco would possess the Elder Wand, because Dumbledore trusted both of them to resist the lure of the Dark Arts?

If that was the case, it suggested the Elder Wand wouldn't become just another wand once its current master surrendered it. It suggested, rather, that the nature of the Wand's power would change – not become less potent, yet perhaps lose its malevolence.

_But why would Dumbledore want me to have the Elder Wand? Why not Potter? Surely he's the one who really needs it, since he's the one who has to ultimately face Voldemort…_

Draco supposed he could ponder that all night and never come up with an answer. But he had decided to trust Dumbledore, and thus, for now, he would accept that Dumbledore wanted him, not Potter, to have the Elder Wand. He would just have to hope that in the end, the Headmaster's true intentions would be made clear – that he would know how to use the Wand to help Potter when the time came.

Which left Draco with the reason he'd been dreading this conversation with Luna since receiving her note over breakfast that morning: For any of the Headmaster's plans to work, Draco still had to kill him, and that meant saying goodbye to Luna.

"That's how I thought she died at first, you know."

Nerving himself up for the "we'll both be better off this way" speech he'd been rehearsing, Draco was caught completely off-guard by Luna's casual remark. "Sorry?" he stammered.

"Mum," Luna clarified patiently, smiling at him over her shoulder. "I thought she was trying to fly."

Draco wondered how that could be. He'd heard Pansy tell Millicent Bulstrode one time that Luna's mother had died trying to bring off some sort of experimental magic. Pansy had been quite scathing about the whole thing, suggesting Luna's eccentricity ran in the family, like her mother's death had been the result of being an airhead.

"She had this special place where she cared for her magical creatures. It was on this cliff behind our house," Luna recalled. Her eyes were fixed on the distant Forest, seeing memories Draco didn't share. "It's lovely there. Very peaceful. I still visit it whenever I go home, even though there's nothing there anymore. If you stand out on the rocks at the edge of the cliff, you can hear the river down below."

She was shivering. Draco took Luna's hands in his, turning her to face him, and folded her icy fingers into his palms to warm them. She smiled up at him, though she still looked rather lost and forlorn.

"How old were you when…when it happened?"

"I was nine," Luna answered lightly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Luna shrugged. "I don't think about it much anymore, actually. It makes me very sad."

Draco squeezed her fingers. "If you want to tell me," he offered simply, "I'll listen."

Gazing thoughtfully at their joined fingers, Luna began, "I remember Mum and Dad were going to have another baby that summer, but…I don't know what happened, exactly. Nobody really told me much about it. Mum had to go to St. Mungo's a few days before the…before the accident, and she came home crying."

A shiver skated down Draco's spine that had nothing to do with the unseasonably chill wind blowing through the Owlery. He had a bad feeling he could see where this story was going.

"She told me to stay inside and play that day. But I saw her write a note to Dad, and I thought she was going somewhere far away to shop, like London, and I didn't want her to go away without me again so soon. So I followed her. But then I saw she was just going up the hill to take care of her creatures, like always, so I went to play beside the water.

"That's where I was when I heard the explosion," Luna finished, almost whispering. "I remember looking up and seeing her standing out on the edge of the cliff, and then there was this flash of blue light, and then…She fell."

Through all of this, Luna's voice never shifted from its dreamy cadence, yet Draco could hear the sorrow underneath her words. He wished he could rub it out, go back in time and mend it all for her.

"I thought at first she was flying," Luna admitted, her eyes finally rising to meet Draco's, "because she sort of floated for a moment in the air. Dad told me later she was trying to create a potion that would heal this old Hippogriff that'd gone blind. She experimented like that all the time. But something went badly wrong, and the explosion knocked her over the cliff."

Searching Luna's upturned face, Draco knew she didn't believe that – and never had. Luna had always known what her mother had done, what the note she'd left Xenophilius must really have said. Still, Luna had chosen to believe her father's softer version of the truth: that one of her mother's many experiments had simply gone horribly, tragically wrong.

That captured so much about Luna, Draco realized. Like how she could be simultaneously open-minded and sensible, drawn to the fantastic while more grounded than most anyone else Draco knew. Luna saw the world as a place of limitless fascination, chose to believe in the impossible because it left room for hope.

Luna slid her fingers out of his and linked her arms behind his neck, moving closer to press her cheek into his chest. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"I'm sorry about your mother, love," he murmured against her hair.

"Thank you." Luna hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry about your parents, too."

Draco rested his cheek on top of Luna's sweet-smelling curls, wondering how in the world he was ever going to do this – break her heart, let her go.

To his surprise, Luna did it for him.

"I think you're breaking up with me."

Draco stiffened, feeling like a thousand knives were stabbing into his heart. "What makes you say that?"

"You are, aren't you?" Luna didn't sound angry or upset; her voice was perfectly even, as always.

Swallowing around a suddenly large lump in his throat, Draco nodded. He didn't trust his voice enough to speak in that moment; he knew how miserable he would sound, and he knew how much his pain would hurt Luna.

"Why?" she inquired, in that same calm, unruffled tone.

Draco cast about for an answer. He couldn't tell her the truth: He'd already risked too much by telling even Potter would Voldemort wanted him to do, and now that he'd agreed to kill Dumbledore at the Headmaster's own request, the whole thing had gotten ludicrously complicated, not to mention fraught with unimaginable peril. Draco couldn't see through to how this would all end; he couldn't see an outcome that left him with anything to offer Luna.

If he failed, Voldemort would kill him and everyone he loved. Now that his parents were gone, that would make Luna the Dark Lord's number-one target unless Draco distanced himself from her. But if he succeeded, he would have to draw ever closer to Voldemort in order to carry out the mission Dumbledore had given him, and that wasn't a world he could – or would – bring Luna into.

In the end, Draco decided to be honest with Luna, even though he couldn't strictly tell the truth.

"There's something I have to do," he replied cautiously.

"And I can't help you?" Luna stepped back enough to look up hopefully into Draco's eyes.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, love. Not with this."

She titled her head to one side, considering him. "If you're just tired of me," she assured him kindly, "I'd understand."

Draco took Luna's face in his hands, staring hard into her eyes, desperate for her to understand him. "Listen to me, you little fool," he ordered roughly. "You are beautiful and smart and amazing and funny and weird and absolutely perfect in every single way."

Luna's smile kept growing as Draco's list of compliments ran on, until he wished he could melt into her happiness, simply be swallowed up into her sunny world. How she had managed to hold onto her serenity after suffering such a terrible loss, Draco didn't know, but he did know that, having heard the story of her mother's death, he respected Luna more now than he ever had.

She wasn't happy because she didn't know what it was to feel pain; she was happy because she felt pain, and chose to be happy anyway.

"I don't come close to deserving you," Draco told her. "And I could never get tired of you, not if I was lucky enough to have you for a million years."

Draco supposed it might have been kinder in the long run for him to be cruel, to tell Luna she was right: He'd lost interest, he was moving on, so should she. But it was a noble act he couldn't bring himself to make. He wasn't a selfless hero like Potter. Draco wanted to survive, and though at the moment he couldn't see how that would happen, he wanted there to be some small chance that Luna would be waiting for him when he was finally able to claim her. He didn't think he could face what lay ahead if he didn't have some hope of winning her back one day.

Luna reached up and traced the outline of his lips with the tip of her index finger. Draco's breath sped up noticeably.

"You can be really sweet, you know," she remarked, smiling brightly at him.

Trying not to focus on the hungry way she was eyeing his mouth, Draco countered shakily, "I don't think I'm breaking up with you very well."

"I've never been broken up with before," Luna observed, "but I think you're doing all right."

With that, she slipped one hand behind his neck and drew his mouth down toward hers. Draco watched her eyes drift shut, and though he knew it was selfish, he didn't try to stop her as she kissed him.

Her lips pressed to Draco's, Luna let herself go on believing, for just one more blissful moment, that they weren't saying goodbye. She kissed him tenderly – a long, slow, lingering kiss that seemed to stop time, narrowing the universe until no one else in the world existed besides the boy in her arms. Draco melted into her, his lips parting, his hands gripping her waist; Luna fell back against the wall and pulled him closer, never wanting to stop, never wanting to let go. In that instant, Luna knew she was more in love with Draco than she had ever been.

But, at last, the kiss had to end.

She released him and dropped her arms to her sides. For Draco's sake, Luna forced a brave, bright smile. The tears would come later; for now, she saw no reason to make this harder for him than she knew it already was.

A broken heart hurt quite as much as Luna had always suspected it would. And yet, because she was Luna, she didn't see it as the end of the world. She would cry, she might even mope for a day or two, but she would carry on, her inner reserves of happiness undiminished, buoyed by her naturally sunny outlook on the world. That was how she had gotten through her mother's death without succumbing to the grief and anger both Harry and Draco seemed to feel at losing their parents: Luna had simply gone through the pain secure in her belief that, despite all evidence to the contrary, the world was a beautiful, lovely, magical place.

"I should go," Draco said, sounding as breathless as Luna felt.

She could tell by the way he was looking at her that the last thing he wanted to do was leave. She wanted him to stay, too, more than anything. But Luna knew Draco's mind was made up: Whatever he had to go, he had decided to do it alone, and she thought, for his sake, he needed to go.

A clean break, her mother had once told her when mending her owl's broken wing, was the easiest kind.

Reflexively, Luna's hand went to her necklace – her little reminder, no matter how difficult things got, of everything she had to be happy about.

_Let it go, love. Let it go._

Luna trusted that inner voice, the one that always made her think of her mother. In the seven years since she had watched Eostara tumble to her death, that voice had never steered Luna wrong, and she trusted it now, as she had trusted her mother in life, to tell her how to do what she wasn't sure she even had the strength to face.

Luna unclasped the necklace and held it out to Draco, who looked at her curiously. "It's yours," he protested. "You found it."

Luna smiled. She doubted most breakups went this way – Ron and Lavender's certainly didn't seem to have – but, painful as it was to let Draco go, she was relieved not to be caught up in some kind of tumultuous lovers' quarrel. Luna was certain she wasn't cut out for that kind of drama, and while Draco had far more of a temper than she did, she couldn't quite imagine him unleashing it on her, not after all they'd been through together.

"I want you to have it," she said, meaning it. "It's always made me think of you. Now you can look at it and think of me."

After a brief, uncertain pause, Draco plucked the charm out of her hand.

His next words reflected the tortured agony in his sapphire eyes. "I want you to know that I never meant for this to happen. Me and you, I mean. I never thought…When I brought you into all of this, I never thought _we _would happen."

Luna knew what he was saying: He hadn't meant to hurt her. She could feel the tears starting to sting her eyes. "I know," she answered, as lightly as she could. "But I'm glad it happened anyway."

"I hope that never changes," Draco said.

Then he turned and walked away.

Turning her face to the chill wind blowing into the Owlery as she listened to Draco's footsteps retreat slowly down the steps, Luna didn't see how she could ever come to regret falling in love with Draco. This had been one of the most wonderful years of her life. She wouldn't have traded a second of the past nine months just to escape the pain that circled her heart now, causing her to clutch her hands to her chest.

Falling in love had been worth the risk.

Alone in the Owlery, Luna walked forward, half-blinded by tears, until she stood on the ledge overlooking the castle grounds far below. A rain-spattered wind lifted her hair off her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, teetering there on the edge, arms spread out wide on either side of her. She imagined herself a bird, able to soar away from all her cares.

_Fly away, _her mother had said. And it was tempting. For maybe the first time in her sixteen short years, Luna could do more than sympathize with the pain that had sent her mother tumbling over the edge of that cliff: She could understand it, because she knew now just how much a broken heart could hurt.

But Luna was not her mother. Though they were alike in many ways, she was stronger than Eostara had been. Luna would not, in the end, fly away.

Luna would wait for Draco to come back to her, and in the meantime, she would stand and fight.

Professor Snape entered the Headmaster's office to find Dumbledore, grey-faced and weary-looking, behind his desk. The old man's silver beard skimmed the tops of three official Ministry envelopes lying unopened beside a much-used quill. Elbows braced on the desktop, forehead resting in his hands, Dumbledore was staring unseeingly at a photograph of two young boys with sparkling blue eyes and a fair-haired little girl.

Snape cleared his throat to announce his presence. "You asked to see me, Headmaster?"

"Severus, yes. Thank you for coming." Dumbledore tucked the photograph into the top-most drawer of his desk, at the same time withdrawing a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper. "I was wondering if you could do me two favors."

"Of course." Severus frowned with concern, taking in the Headmaster's waxy pallor. "But perhaps you should be resting?"

"I dare say there will be time enough for me to sleep very soon," Dumbledore answered tiredly. Then he smiled, as if amused by his own self-pity, and something of his usual merriment sparked in his blue eyes. "Which brings us to why I called you here this fine morning. I have one last task to undertake, in just two days' time, and then I shall be ready for Draco to fulfill Voldemort's wishes."

Snape nodded curtly. He had tried his best to dissuade Dumbledore from this course of action, but the Headmaster's mind was made up. Snape knew from long experience there could be no swaying Albus Dumbledore once he'd reached a decision.

"My task will take me, and Harry, out of the castle for a few hours," Dumbledore explained. "I would like for you to keep an eye on things while I'm gone, as Minerva will be supervising the fifth-year students in their O.W.L.s."

As far as favors for Dumbledore went, being left in charge of Hogwarts was actually quite simple, so Snape simply nodded. The Headmaster went on, "I would also like you to give Draco this for me," he slid the wrapped box across the desk to Snape, who pocketed it without question, "and let him know that I'll be calling him upon before the end of the week."

"Why not tell him yourself?" Snape inquired mildly.

"Because I fear Voldemort has more eyes inside this castle than just your own, Severus," Dumbledore returned.

Snape stiffened. "If you're referring to the Zabini boy, I still maintain that he is no threat. He's jealous of Draco, but as far as I can determine, he has no connection to the Dark Lord himself."

"I hope, for his sake, that you are right. Be that as it may, I prefer not to be seen speaking privately with Draco until our arrangement is concluded," Dumbledore replied, clearly tabling the issue.

Snape shrugged. "As you wish."

"There is one more thing," Dumbledore said, as Snape turned to go. The Head of Slytherin House turned back expectantly. "Once Draco has completed his mission, he won't be able to remain at Hogwarts. I will need you to see to it that he is gotten safely away."

"Will this be a private affair?" Snape inquired delicately, trying to look as though discussing Dumbledore's impending murder didn't rattle his cold exterior.

"Oh yes, I think so," Dumbledore assured him. "We don't want the Ministry hunting Draco down as a murderer, do we? That would quite spoil the plan. The fewer witnesses, the better. So long as you witness the deed," Dumbledore decided, "I think that will be sufficient for Voldemort."

"You realize that most people will conclude I am your murderer, of course," Snape observed drolly.

"I do regret putting you in such a position, my old friend." Dumbledore's eyes shone with sincerity. "Still, I'm certain the Ministry will be in Voldemort's hands before the end of the summer. I have no doubt Voldemort will use his puppet-Minister to install you as Headmaster, regardless of what suspicions may be cast upon you."

"And if Potter wants to avenge you?"

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling slightly. "You underestimate Harry, as always, Severus. Vengeance is not in the boy. Besides," he added, with supreme confidence, "I have appointed Harry a task, one far more important than avenging me, and he will carry it out. Of that, I am certain."

Eyeing the Headmaster coldly, Snape remarked, "You expect rather a lot from your students, Headmaster. Draco and Potter are only boys, you know."

"My dear Severus, they are much more than that," Dumbledore protested. "And I have absolute faith in both of them."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Beginning of the End

Humming to herself, Luna leaned over the sink in the girls' bathroom and splashed water on her cheeks. She had just finished a seemingly interminable History of Magic O.W.L. exam, her last of the day, for which she had written so much her ink-stained fingers were cramping. Thinking about supper and the hours of studying still ahead of her – her last two exams, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, would finally be over in the morning – Luna was so distracted she didn't hear someone approach her from behind.

She did see the jet of red light reflected in the mirror above the sink, and then the world went dark.

Just when it felt like his life was coming apart at the seams, Draco found a small measure of peace in realizing the worst part was over.

He had given up Luna. He hadn't known if he could really walk away, let go, when they were saying goodbye in the Owlery; hearing Luna's quiet sobs, it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to race back up those steps, throw his arms around her, and tell her everything Dumbledore had asked him to do, secrecy be damned. Somehow, though he hadn't felt so dead inside since the night he'd lost his parents, Draco had kept putting one foot in front of the other until he had reached the Slytherin common room.

Where Snape had been waiting for him.

The deadline for Dumbledore's murder had been set, Snape had informed Draco after taking him to his office. By the end of the week, Draco would be asked to complete his mission for Voldemort.

Snape had also given Draco a gift from the Headmaster. In the privacy of the Room of Hidden Things, where he'd retreated to open Dumbledore's package, Draco had at last discovered the missing piece of the puzzle.

The Resurrection Stone.

The stone had not been accompanied by any note of explanation, yet Draco was certain he understood the Headmaster's message. Dumbledore knew Ollivander had visited Luna; he would know that, by now, Luna had told Draco of Ollivander's suspicions regarding Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and the Elder Wand. By turning over the Resurrection Stone, Draco believed Dumbledore was confirming those suspicions and, more importantly, telling him that his role, for the time being, was to hold onto these two missing Hallows, to keep them safe from Voldemort.

Draco knew Potter was the crux of Dumbledore's plan. After all, he, not Draco, was the Chosen One. But if Draco had learned anything this past year, it was that the Prophecy didn't guarantee Potter victory; for that, Potter needed help – and lots of it. One day, Draco believed, the Chosen One, who already possessed the Cloak of Invisibility, would need to unite the Deathly Hallows, to bring their power together to defeat the Dark Lord. For that to happen, someone had to protect the Hallows, a role Dumbledore could no longer fulfill.

Of course Draco didn't pretend to completely understand the ins and outs of Dumbledore's scheme. But he did understand that Voldemort would never think to suspect his protégé, his heir, of hiding the Deathly Hallows. What would happen if (more likely when) Voldemort discovered Dumbledore had been the last master of the Elder Wand, Draco could only guess: He supposed it was possible Voldemort would decide to kill the person who had defeated Dumbledore, ensuring that the Wand's power would be his and his alone.

That was a frightening thought, although Draco trusted the Headmaster not to deliberately set him up to die. But no matter how it turned out, being given the Resurrection Stone, having his suspicion that Dumbledore wanted _him_ to be the master of the Elder Wand and the keeper of the Deathly Hallows, had allowed Draco to make peace with what he was being asked to do. Killing Dumbledore didn't just seem like a way to save his own skin anymore. Killing Dumbledore in the way the Headmaster had planned would mean breaking the Elder Wand's terrible power, and in so doing, Draco would be taking off the table the one weapon that might have given Voldemort an edge over the Chosen One.

Dumbledore's death would have purpose. So, too, would Draco's decision to end the Headmaster's life.

The next two days had passed quickly. Draco didn't try to see Luna; she had her O.W.L.s to worry with, and they had already said their goodbyes – no reason to draw out the pain. He also didn't spend much time around Potter, Weasley, or Hermione, now that he had declined to accompany them on their mission. Hermione had hugged him at breakfast the morning after his break-up with Luna, whispering in his ear that she was glad he would be safe. Weasley had nodded to him once, curtly, and they had left it at that. There was really nothing left to say.

On the next-to-last evening before the school year would end, Draco decided to take one more walk down to the lake where he'd spent so many happy afternoons that spring. The next evening, he would be summoned to Dumbledore's office to carry out his gruesome mission, and then Draco's life would change forever. He wanted to enjoy these final peaceful hours at Hogwarts while he could.

Walking out of the castle, Draco spotted Hermione and Weasley sitting together on a stone bench in the courtyard. They were deep in conversation – he assumed about the Horcrux hunt – and neither saw him. As Draco watched, Weasley reached out casually and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Hermione's ear. She colored a little, but she didn't pull away.

Instead of being angry, Draco found himself simply wishing the situation between Potter, Weasley, and Hermione would turn out for the best. The three of them had been through a lot together; it would be nice, Draco reflected, if they could find a way to all be friends, romantic entanglements aside.

Besides, if Hermione ended up with Weasley, Potter would most likely end up with Ginny. While Draco personally believed Hermione was better suited for the Boy Who Lived, Ginny was undeniably a prize in her own right.

But he still thought Hermione could do better than Weasley.

Draco made his way down to the lake just as the sun was setting, casting ribbons of orange-gold light across the dark waves. Plopping down on his usual black rock, he sat for a long while staring at the water, thinking about his parents, Luna, Potter, Hermione, the D.A., Dumbledore…

"Pansy, where are you going? Please, wait!"

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Draco was surprised to see that night had fallen in earnest: He must have been sitting there for close to two hours. He turned as voices moved through the trees toward him.

Johanna Evanston was hurrying alongside Pansy Parkinson, who was stumbling around like a drunk, practically tripping over her own feet. Tears were streaming down Johanna's pixie-like face; she kept grabbing at Pansy's arm, only to be shaken off.

Draco frowned. At first, he assumed a lovers' quarrel – not that Pansy could exactly "quarrel" with anyone in her zombie state – but then he realized the girls were walking outof the Dark Forest. Draco knew Pansy had as much fear of the Forest as he did; during his first year, when McGonagall had assigned Draco to detention with Hagrid amongst those trees, Pansy had nearly fainted with fright on his behalf.

Only orders from Zabini could have persuaded Pansy to wander those eerie paths in the dark, Draco was certain of that. And orders from Zabini would spell nothing but trouble.

"What's the matter with her?" Draco demanded of Johanna, jumping off his rock. His muscles were stiff from sitting for so long; he stretched his arms over his head, trying to work some life back into his limbs as he hurried across the rocky ground toward the girls.

Johanna did a double-take when she saw him, then narrowed her green eyes suspiciously. "I – nothing," she returned lamely, catching Pansy just before she bumped head-first into a willow tree.

Draco arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," Johanna confessed, since something clearly was. Pansy placed her hands on the tree, feeling the bark like she'd never seen such a thing before. "I went looking for her when she didn't come to supper, and I found her wandering around out here in the woods."

"Come here, love." Gently, Draco took Pansy by the shoulders and turned her to face him. She stared blankly into his eyes.

_Damn Zabini, _Draco thought angrily. _If he's addled Pansy's brain with his Imperius Curse, I'll kill him, I swear I will._

Draco had always thought the Cruciatus Curse was the cruelest of all the Unforgivable Curses. Looking at Pansy now, he revisited that opinion: Being unable to control one's own actions seemed somehow more sinister than being tortured.

He didn't know exactly what had gone wrong, but it was obvious Pansy needed medical attention. He was just about to announce that he would help Johanna get her to Nurse Pomfrey when Pansy said, "I took her to the Forest. I did as I was told."

Her voice was wooden, emotionless. She didn't seem to be talking to Draco; she sounded more like she was reading from a script, or maybe like a record stuck on repeat. It sent a chill through Draco to hear her.

"She keeps saying that," Johanna told him, looking as scared as he suddenly felt. "Do you know what she's talking about?"

Draco had a very, very bad feeling that he did.

"Jo," he said quietly, "I'm about to do something you're not going to like, but I need you to trust me that I would never hurt Pansy. Can you do that?"

Johanna hesitated, for which Draco couldn't blame her: So far as she knew, he was evil incarnate, Voldemort's Chosen One. Eventually, however, she nodded, probably because she knew she couldn't stop him even if he did intend to harm Pansy – Johanna wasn't a terribly accomplished witch, certainly no match for Draco.

Pointing his wand at Pansy, Draco murmured, "_Legilimens._"

_Zabini, standing outside the girl's bathroom on the second floor, seized Pansy roughly by the wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"_

_"I'm-I'm not doing this anymore, Blaise," Pansy responded, looking confused yet determined. "I don't know what you've done to me, but I'm…I'm going to Professor Snape."_

_"I don't think so," Zabini snarled. Drawing his wand, he whispered, "Imperio!"_

_Pansy's eyes unfocused once again._

_Holding her wrist so tightly Pansy's fingers started to turn purple, Zabini commanded, "Now here's what you're going to do, Pansy: You're going to go in that bathroom, Stun our little princess, cast a Disillusionment Charm over both of you, and then we're going to take her out to the Forest to meet my friend. Got it?"_

_Pansy nodded. Zabini released her; she turned and stumbled into the wall beside the doorway. Backing up, she managed to totter into the girls' bathroom, where Luna Lovegood was standing with her back to the door, splashing water on her cheeks._

_Wordlessly, Pansy lifted her wand and sent a Stunning spell flying at Luna's back._

Draco pulled his consciousness away from Pansy's, his heart hammering in his chest. All he could think was that Zabini had Luna, somewhere in these woods – and he was offering her up to someone, his "friend," like a sacrificial lamb.

"What did you see?"

Johanna was standing at Draco's elbow, staring at him wide-eyed, her face bone-white. Draco had a tough decision to make, and he had to make it swiftly: He didn't know Johanna very well – she was just another pretty girl to him, not exactly shy but so quiet and ordinary he'd never taken much notice of her, even though she and Pansy had been friends for years. Could he trust her now? Or would she turn and run to Zabini?

_You don't have a choice. You have to get to Luna, fast._

"Zabini's put her under the Imperius Curse," Draco declared. Johanna gasped, gaping in horror at Pansy. "He made her help him kidnap Luna Lovegood. They've brought her out to the Forest somewhere."

"But why?" Johanna demanded. She reached out and stroked Pansy's cheek tenderly; Draco felt a pang of sympathy for the girl then, knowing how he would feel if someone had turned his Luna into a human puppet. "Why would he do that? And what would he want with Luna Lovegood?"

"I don't know," Draco replied, "but we have to find her before something happens, or else Pansy'll be to blame, too."

Johanna nodded, showing more steel than Draco would have expected from the slight, whey-faced girl. "What do we do?"

"I'm going to go look for Luna," Draco decided. "You take Pansy up to the castle. She needs to get to the hospital wing. But before you do anything else," Draco tried to infuse his words with as much authority as possible, knowing Johanna would be sorely tempted to look after Pansy immediately, "I want you to go to the Gryffindor common room, find Potter, and tell him to meet me at Hagrid's hut as fast as he can."

Johanna stared at him like he was speaking Gobbledegook. "But I – you want – you mean _Harry _Potter?" she spluttered.

"Do you know another Potter? Look, there's no time to explain," Draco insisted harshly, shoving Pansy into Johanna's arms. "You want to help Pansy, this is what we have to do."

"But I can't get into the Gryffindor common room! I don't know the password," Johanna protested.

"Then stand outside and scream your bloody head off until somebody comes out. You understand?"

Johanna nodded. She looked really terrified now, especially as Pansy was turning in slow circles on the spot, murmuring, "I took her to the Forest," over and over again in a kind of sing-song voice.

"But what if I see Blaise?" Johanna pressed, going even whiter as the idea of encountering Pansy's attacker occurred to her. "He won't let me – "

"If you see Zabini, Curse him," Draco ordered her firmly. "And if you see anybody else from Slytherin House, don't tell them a word about what's going on, all right? We don't know who we can trust."

After a moment's hesitation, Johanna squared her shoulders. "I can do that."

"I know you can. Now hurry."

As Johanna raced off toward the castle, Draco turned and gazed into the trees surrounding the lake, his heart hammering in his chest. Zabini wanted Luna, alone and helpless, in the Forest. Why?

_No, that's not the question. The question is: Where?_

The Dark Forest was huge. One good thing about that, of course, was there were only so many places Pansy and Zabini could have taken Luna, even in two hours' time, especially considering Pansy probably hadn't been much help in her current condition. Still, it was a lot of ground to cover.

And no human could cover as much ground as quickly as a panther.

Closing his eyes, Draco Transfigured into the giant silver cat. Then, uncoiling its lithe muscles, the panther sprang forward into the trees, running as fast as its legs would carry it through the darkness.

Luna woke up tied to the trunk of a tree.

All around her was empty darkness. A cool wind was blowing; the branches of the trees swayed ominously against the black, starless sky, casting shadows like long, evil fingers across the ground. A twig snapped somewhere off to her right. Luna, her arms bound to her sides by thick ropes that wound around her chest, stomach, and legs, twisted her head fearfully in that direction, straining to see into the inky blackness between the trees.

She had the distinct feeling she was not alone.

_Stay calm, _she ordered herself. She tried to wriggle her wrists, to free her hands enough to reach into the pocket of her robes for her wand, which she could feel poking her in the leg. But she was bound too tightly to move so much as a finger.

Giving up on being able to free herself, Luna stilled and took stock of her surroundings. She could dimly make out the distant shape of Hogwarts on its high hill; she was still on school grounds, at least, which meant she wasn't beyond help, though she had no idea how she had gotten out here. She also realized she was in a part of the Forest she didn't recognize. Nothing looked familiar to her, although in the distance, she could see the lights of Hagrid's cabin.

_Maybe Hagrid will bring Fang out for a walk, _she thought hopefully. But then she remembered that, with the Centaurs threatening rebellion against the Ministry, Hagrid was unlikely to venture as deep into the Forest as he had at one time.

She was all alone.

Or, maybe not.

A heavy footfall close by set Luna's heart to pounding again. "Hello?" she called toward the darkness. She reasoned staying quiet wouldn't do her much good; whoever had tied her up out here already knew where she was, and if her friends happened to be out looking for her (which Luna hoped they were), she wouldn't help her cause by being silent.

"Hello?" she called again, adding hopefully, "Draco?"

"Your boyfriend's not coming, I'm afraid."

Luna's blood turned to ice in her veins as she placed the rough, raspy male voice. A moment later, the brutal, wolfish countenance of Fenrir Greyback appeared out of the darkness.

He seemed even larger than Luna remembered from the Malfoys' garden. Where his black Death Eater robe fell open, Luna could see ropy muscles rippling along Greyback's massive chest. Matted grey hair spread across his cheeks and jaw; his hands and wrists were covered in a similar kind of coarse fur, running like a wolf-pelt down to his long yellow nails.

When he smiled, cruelly, Luna saw that his discolored teeth were worn down to sharp points. He was, without a doubt, the filthiest, most disgusting, most terrifying thing Luna had ever seen.

Greyback lumbered toward her, his shoulders rolling strangely in their sockets, as if he was more accustomed to loping along as a wolf than walking upright as a man. She recalled her father telling her once, after poor Professor Lupin had been revealed as a werewolf, that Greyback had been the one to attack Lupin. According to Xenophilius, Greyback so enjoyed his vicious attacks on humans that he had learned to transform into his werewolf form even when it wasn't the full moon.

Not that he would need to prove that ability tonight, she saw with dawning horror, because a ghostly white orb was already rising in the cloudless sky.

"Have you done something to Draco?" Luna heard herself ask, pleased that her voice didn't tremble even the slightest bit. She sounded fearless, anyway.

"The Malfoy brat? Why would I hurt him? I reckon he's back up in the castle, safe in his bed," Greyback answered.

As he drew closer so he was standing directly in front of her, Luna caught a whiff of a distinctly pungent odor. It was more than dirt and sweat; it reminded her of rotting meat. She breathed shallowly, trying not to gag.

Greyback reached out and trailed the tips of his dirty fingernails through Luna's hair. "I bet he's dreaming of you, pet," he rasped, his eyes moving hungrily from Luna's face down to her toes. "And I don't blame him. You look good enough to eat."

Luna opened her mouth and screamed. It seemed like the only logical thing to do at that point.

In a flash, Greyback's hand shot out and closed around her neck. He squeezed; Luna's ear-splitting cry choked off in a painful gasp. Bursts of light exploded in front of her eyes.

"I'll have to thank Zabini for this," Greyback observed, his free hand pawing at Luna's curls. "I thought I might be missing out on all the fun up at the castle, but he was right. You were worth skipping the main event."

Luna was starting to black out from lack of oxygen. Some part of her processed what Greyback was saying: Zabini was behind her predicament, and more importantly, Greyback seemed to believe he wasn't the only Death Eater at Hogwarts that night.

_It can't be_, Luna's swiftly-clouding brain argued. _They couldn't get in here, not while Dumbledore's around…_

_I have to fight, I have to get free, _she thought desperately, as Greyback's moist, foul-smelling breath wafted across her face. _I have to warn my friends. I have to warn Harry._

"This is payback," Greyback snarled, "for helping Potter send me to Azkaban – "

All at once, Greyback's hold on Luna's neck loosened as he looked up toward a flash of silver moving through the tree branches above them. A second later, something enormous crashed into him from overhead, knocking him hard to the ground.

Luna's throat felt like someone had poured sand down it. Rasping air into her starved lungs, she willed herself not to faint.

Roaring and snarling nearby broke through her near-stupor. Blinking to clear the spots from her vision, Luna watched in horror as Greyback, now in his werewolf form, rose up on his hind legs, threw his shaggy head back toward the sky, and howled.

An answering growl from the undergrowth sent a shiver of excitement through Luna. She knew that growl.

_Whiskers._

The giant silver cat rose proudly out of the tall grass beneath an ancient willow tree, where it had rolled after knocking Greyback away from Luna. The cat bared its white fangs, its mercury-colored eyes trained murderously on the werewolf that coiled itself for a spring.

Whiskers and Greyback leapt toward one another at the same moment. Luna winced as their bodies crashed together, a tangle of teeth and claws; they went rolling along the muddy ground, scratching, biting, growling. She watched helplessly, struggling desperately against her bonds, hardly aware that she was screaming for help at the top of her lungs despite the ache in her bruised throat.

As in the garden, Whiskers quickly took the upper hand. The great cat's paw slashed across the werewolf's face, slinging blood in an arcing back-splash from its claws; Greyback yelped, his skull sliced to the bone.

"Luna!"

Luna sagged with relief as Hermione and Ron, breathless, dashed into the clearing. "_Diffindo_!" Ron shouted, pointing his wand at the ropes binding her. He caught Luna as she pitched forward, holding her tight against his chest while reaching out to yank Hermione behind him, positioning himself firmly between the girls and the snarling beasts.

"Where's Harry?" Luna gasped, her voice a hoarse whisper from both nearly being strangled to death and screaming her head off.

"He's with Dumbledore," Hermione whispered back in a rush, staring in horror as the silver panther snapped its teeth at Greyback's flank. The werewolf rolled away just in time.

"We met Johanna Evanston in the hallway. She was with Pansy, who was acting really weird, and she told us Zabini had you out here. She sent us out to meet Draco at Hagrid's, but no one was there, and we heard you screaming – "

At that moment, a figure suddenly burst through the trees. Luna barely had time to register that it was Pansy Parkinson, her eyes glassy and bloodshot, with her friend Johanna stumbling along behind her begging her to stop, before Pansy aimed her wand directly at Whiskers.

"No!" Hermione and Luna yelled together.

Too late. "_Homorphus_!" Pansy cried.

A jet of blue light hit Whiskers in the spine just as the great cat rose up on its hind legs, preparing to drive its claws down into Greyback's chest where the werewolf lay sprawled on its back in the dirt.

Instantly, the panther disappeared, and Draco, forced back into his human form, toppled sideways to the ground.

Dazed, Draco hardly had time to realize what had happened before the injured werewolf was climbing to its feet, something closely resembling a fiendish smile curling its upper lip.

_I'm going to die._

Terror unlike anything Draco had ever known, even when he'd stared into Voldemort's livid scarlet eyes the night his parents were murdered, washed over him, rooting him to the spot. He could only stare, desperately throwing one arm up in front of his face, as the werewolf sprang gracefully toward him.

_Let it be quick…_

"Get away from him!"

In a flash, someone stepped between Draco and Greyback. The werewolf slammed hard into the small figure, teeth flashing; there was a horrible, blood-curdling shriek of agony, cut short by a spurt of bright-red blood, as Draco's savior crumpled to the ground beneath the monster.

For one awful second, Draco thought it was Luna. But then he realized the limp form beneath Greyback had dark hair, not blonde.

Pansy Parkinson.

"No!" Draco heard himself shout, a second before he Transfigured once more into the great silver panther.

The cat lunged at Greyback with the force of a locomotive, fury giving it extraordinary power. Even in his Animagus form, Draco felt Greyback's ribs shatter; the werewolf grunted in pain, howling pitifully. Draco had no mercy now: The panther sunk its teeth deep into the back of the werewolf's neck, ripping through flesh and muscle and bone; shaking the monster once, hard, the great cat snapped the werewolf's spine.

The werewolf stilled instantly. Just like that, Fenrir Greyback was dead.

Dropping its kill, the panther spun back toward Greyback's final victim. Hermione, Weasley and Johanna were kneeling beside Pansy, blocking her from his view, but Draco could tell by the way Johanna was sobbing what he would find when he reached them.

Luna was the only one standing, tears rolling silently down her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the panther. Draco resumed his human form in mid-step and wordlessly opened his arms; Luna, her robes caked in mud from being drug through the Forest, her throat scratched and bruised from Greyback's attack, ran straight into his embrace.

Draco crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. When he'd seen her tied to that tree, helpless in Greyback's grasp…He had known in that instant that a world without Luna was a world he couldn't survive in.

After a moment, Luna pulled back a little, tipping her tear-streaked face up toward his. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice weak and raspy.

Draco nodded. His arms, chest, and back were covered in gashes, a deep bruise bloomed on his jaw, but he would live. Gently, he brushed Luna's hair away from her neck, frowning as he examined the finger-shaped marks purpling against her pale skin.

"Are you?"

Luna nodded. "You saved me," she whispered, sounding awed.

"Of course I saved you, you little fool." Draco pressed a tender kiss to Luna's brow, then rested his forehead against hers, trying to slow his still-racing heart by drawing in deep, even breaths. He wanted to say, _I love you, _but he wasn't sure it would be right, not after he'd let her go.

Luna nuzzled his cheek with her nose. Draco fought a powerful urge to kiss her; it wasn't passion he was feeling, exactly, more like an overwhelming desire to make sure she could never, ever doubt how much he cared for her.

Slowly, reluctantly, Luna stepped back. "Pansy," she said, glancing sadly over her shoulder.

Draco's heart clenched. "Yes," he returned softly. "Pansy."

Stepping around Luna, Draco dropped to his knees beside his fallen Housemate. Weasley moved aside, looking sickened. Draco understood: It was a gruesome sight, easily the worst thing he had ever seen.

Pansy was gone. The werewolf's bite had severed her jugular, laying the skin of her throat wide open; she lay in a pool of dark, sticky blood, her face starkly white, eyes staring unseeingly up into the night sky.

"It's my fault," Johanna was saying, clutching Hermione, who was kneeling beside her and trying to comfort her. "I tried to get her upstairs, but she hit me. I fell down, and she ran away. She kept saying, 'I took her to the woods' – I couldn't catch up to her, I-I-I couldn't…"

The girl broke off into hysterical sobs. Hermione wrapped her arms around her as she looked to Draco with an anguished question. "But how did she get out here? She was out of her head when we sawher, not twenty minutes ago."

"Zabini had her under the Imperius Curse," Draco explained quietly. "He made her help him kidnap Luna. He must have ordered her not to let any of us come out here to investigate."

Weasley balled his hands into fists at his sides. It was plain how badly he wanted to pummel Zabini. "When she realized we were after rescuing Luna," he mused darkly, "she probably didn't have a choice but to follow us."

"Then why did she try to save Draco?" Hermione pressed. "Zabini wouldn't care if he died, would he?"

"People can overcome the Imperius Curse," Luna put in quietly, her dreamy voice shot through with sadness. She stood behind Draco, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Maybe when she saw what was going to happen to Draco, she was able to break the Curse."

As they talked, trying to guess at everything that had transpired that evening to lead them up to this moment, Draco continued to stare down into Pansy's face. He wasn't terribly interested in the particulars. Whether Pansy had been so addled she hadn't known what she was doing, or whether she'd been under orders not to let Luna be rescued, or whether she had finally regained control of herself when she realized her actions were about to result in his death, the outcome was the same. Pansy was dead. And the only two people responsible for that, in Draco's opinion, were Blaise Zabini and himself: Zabini for putting Pansy under the Imperius Curse in the first place, Draco for not freeing her from Zabini's control long ago.

In that moment, Draco vowed that one day, no matter how far in the future that day had to be, he would kill Zabini. And he would take pleasure in it.

_You will be avenged, _Draco silently promised Pansy. He took small comfort from the vow. He would never have expected to feel such grief for Pansy, a girl he realized now was probably a much more complex person than he'd ever given her credit for, someone he had always too easily dismissed as shallow, vain, and cruel without looking beneath her exterior, the same way people did with him. Now that she was gone, Draco regretted never taking the time to really know her.

But grief would have to wait, as would vengeance.

Draco turned to Hermione. "Where's Potter?"

"He's gone somewhere with Dumbledore," she answered, patting Johanna soothingly on the back. "I don't know where."

"We need to get back to the castle, let the Heads of Houses know what's happened." Draco looked at Weasley, inclining his head toward Pansy. "Will you help me carry her?"

Cringing a bit and carefully avoiding looking directly at Pansy's grisly wound, Weasley nevertheless nodded stoically. "'Course I will."

"There's something else," Luna piped up, her grip tightening on Draco's shoulder. "Greyback said the 'main event' was up at the castle. I – "

At that moment, Weasley, who was looking back toward the school, cried out in fear. "Bloody hell!" Everyone jumped, even Draco. "Is that what I think it is?"

Twisting around, Draco stared in disbelief at the Dark Mark forming in the clouds above the school.

"Oh no," Hermione murmured, color draining out of her face. "That's over the Astronomy Tower, isn't it?"

"It's not possible," Weasley put in, his voice trembling. "It has to be some kind of a trick. Zabini must've conjured it."

Draco shook his head. "Only Death Eaters can conjure the Dark Mark," he reminded them.

Hermione paled. "But how could Death Eaters get inside Hogwarts?"

Draco had a sudden, awful inkling of what was going on. His mind flashed back to the night his parents had died, when the Death Eaters had demanded to know how he and Potter and their friends had gotten out of Hogwarts.  
_"There's a passage out of the castle,"_ he heard himself tell Voldemort. _"You go through the Great Hall, behind the professors' platform, down a long stone staircase. It comes out beyond Hogsmeade."_

That was it. He had given the Death Eaters their way in: He had revealed a weakness in the castle's defenses apparently even Dumbledore himself had been unaware of. All the Death Eaters would have needed was someone inside the school to follow Draco's instructions for going through the Great Hall, down the staircase, and out the tunnel; the Death Eaters could have Apparated into the woods beyond Hogsmeade, met their spy there, and followed the inside man back to the castle.

Draco knew exactly who that inside man had to be – Blaise Zabini.

His next question was, Why now? But the answer to that was suddenly obvious as well. Tomorrow was the last day of the school year at Hogwarts. Whoever was setting Zabini up as Draco's rival, whether it was his uncle Rodolphus or someone else, they had to know that Draco would be acting either tonight or tomorrow, if he intended to carry out Voldemort's orders that Dumbledore be killed before the end of the term. Zabini and his master were taking one last gamble to beat Draco to the punch: sneak Death Eaters inside Hogwarts, corner Dumbledore, and kill him without Draco's involvement.

But Zabini had wanted more than victory. He'd wanted revenge, to serve Luna up to Greyback to hurt Draco, because Zabini knew the truth even if he couldn't prove it. He knew that Draco loved Luna.

Draco pictured Zabini's face, a study in loathing, the night he had broken his nose in front of the entire D.A. for attacking Luna. As payback for that humiliation, Zabini obviously wanted more than to usurp Draco's place at Voldemort's right hand. He wanted to destroy his enemy, heart and soul. He had tried once already, at the Dueling Club Tournament, but his strategy had backfired. Since hurting Draco directly hadn't worked, Zabini had apparently decided to get at his rival through Luna.

Unfortunately, it seemed at least part of Zabini's plan had worked, or otherwise the Dark Mark would not be hanging in the sky above Hogwarts. Death Eaters conjured the Mark to mean only one thing – murder.

Chances were, Draco was already too late to help Dumbledore. He couldn't imagine who else the Death Eaters would have come to Hogwarts to kill, unless it was Potter himself.

Which left the question of what to do now.

Draco supposed he could run. If Dumbledore really was dead, and that seemed likely, then the Elder Wand was beyond his grasp. Dumbledore's well-laid plans would all be for naught. And if Potter was dead, Voldemort had already won.

Even as he thought it, though, Draco knew he couldn't walk away. Not now. He had to see it through. If Dumbledore was dead, Draco decided, he would openly declare his allegiance to Potter, join the Chosen One on his quest to hunt Horcruxes, and see where the future took them. If Potter was dead…

Well, Draco supposed standing and fighting for a lost cause was better than looking over his shoulder, waiting for his past to catch up with him one day.

But just in case, by some miracle, both Potter and Dumbledore had survived, Draco had a loose end to clear up before he went to confront Zabini and the Death Eaters at the castle. Pointing his wand at Johanna, Draco said, "_Obliviate_!"

Johanna's eyes became glassy. Hermione gasped in surprise and glared accusingly at Draco, who met her gaze evenly. "She saw me fighting Greyback," he pointed out calmly. "I can't trust just anyone with my secrets, can I?"

Besides, he reflected privately, Johanna didn't need to remember watching Pansy die so horribly. No one should have to live with that as a last memory of the one they loved.

Grudgingly, Hermione agreed. Everyone looked to Draco, even Weasley, as she asked, "What are we going to do now?"

Draco had a plan. "Weasley," he commanded, "you wake McGonagall. Tell her what's happened. Tell her there are Death Eaters inside Hogwarts." Weasley still looked frightened, but he nodded. Draco hurried on, "Luna, Hermione, take Jo back to the castle with you, and point her toward the dungeon. She'll be safe in the Slytherin common room – the Death Eaters won't hurt anybody there."

The girls nodded.

"Then get to your dormitories," Draco concluded, pushing to his feet. "Wake up as many members of the D.A. as you can, and meet Weasley and McGonagall in the Great Hall. You can mount a defense from there. Got it?"

"What about you?" Luna inquired, her topaz eyes dark with fear.

"Someone's got to find out what that means," Draco answered, gesturing toward the Dark Mark hanging above the highest point of Hogwarts. "I'm going to the Astronomy Tower." Before any of them could argue with him, he transformed into the silver panther and raced off through the trees toward their enemies.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Moment of Truth

As the castle came into view, Draco returned to his human form, but he didn't slow down. He ran as hard as he could up the staircases and down the empty corridors toward the Astronomy Tower. It was after hours by this time; the teachers and students were either in bed or, for the fifth-years, too busy studying for the last day of O.W.L.s to look out their windows and see the Dark Mark hanging over the castle. None of them knew the enemy was no longer at the gates: They were already inside.

At the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, Draco slowed to a walk, catching his breath. He was dreading what awaited him, but he didn't have the luxury of time to steel himself. If, by some miracle, either Potter or Dumbledore had survived the Death Eaters' ambush, right now, Draco was their only chance to stay alive.

How, exactly, he would manage that, Draco hadn't figured out. But he had to do something.

Draco moved swiftly yet silently up the steps – so silently the Death Eaters didn't hear his approach.

"…supposed to happen!" his aunt Bella was protesting, her voice sharp with fury. "Draco should be here! Those are the Dark Lord's orders."

Rounding the last turn of the curved staircase, Draco saw his aunt, the Carrows, Rastaban Lestrange, and his uncle Rodolphus arranged in a loose knot outside the door that led onto the tower's platform. They were all wearing their black, hooded Death Eater robes. Rodolphus had his hand resting possessively on Blaise Zabini's shoulder, putting to rest any of Draco's lingering doubts about who was pulling his Housemate's strings.

Seeing Zabini awakened the murderous rage Draco tried, for the sake of his own soul, to keep in check. He thought of Pansy's body out there on the Forest floor, of Luna bound to a tree as Greyback prepared to savage her, and his hands shook with the strain of holding in his anger.

_Focus. You have more important concerns than revenge at the moment, _a small voice in Draco's heart murmured. It sounded a lot like his mother, reminding Draco that his parents had sacrificed themselves so he could bring down Voldemort – not so he could take a momentary pleasure from Cursing Zabini into dust. Remembering that, Draco reined in his fury.

"You heard the boy, Bella," Rodolphus was answering his wife smoothly. By "the boy," Draco knew he meant Zabini, who had a Cheshire-cat grin trained on Bellatrix. "Draco wasn't in his dormitory. Dumbledore may be here any minute, once he learns the Dark Mark is hanging over this tower. We don't have time to go hunting for Draco, or we'll miss our chance!"

So that was how Rodolphus was playing it, Draco mused, even as his heart leapt at the news that the Dark Mark had only been conjured as a lure – incredibly, both Potter and Dumbledore were still safe, it seemed.

Draco's uncle appeared to be counting on Voldemort being so pleased by Dumbledore's death that he would overlook the disobedience that had led his Death Eaters to Hogwarts that night. Once Dumbledore was dead, would Voldemort really care who had carried out the deed? Would the Dark Lord forgive Rodolphus for contradicting his wishes, for acting without Draco, in light of the service he would have done him?

Draco had to admit, his uncle's plan was a smart one. If Zabini would have stuck to that plan instead of involving Luna for his own selfish purposes, it probably would have worked: Draco would never have known the Death Eaters were carrying out his mission without him until Dumbledore was dead; Rodolphus would have stolen the glory that should have gone to his nephew.

As it was, Draco took no small measure of glee in disrupting those plans.

"No need to worry, Uncle," Draco declared silkily, stepping out of the shadows. The Carrows started; Rodolphus glared; Zabini paled. "It seems I made it in time after all."

"Draco, what's happened to you?" His aunt rushed forward, taking in her nephew's soiled clothes, the bruises on his face, the deep cuts on his arms. "Who did this to you?"

"Greyback," Draco replied, his eyes on Zabini's. He hadn't known until that moment what story he would tell, but the lies came to him easily. Draco supposed that was Voldemort's influence at work.

At least being evil had its uses.

"Pansy Parkinson is dead," he went on forcefully. Zabini blanched. "She told me to follow her into the woods. She said Blaise needed to show me something important. But when we got out there, Greyback was waiting for us."

"That's not what I – " Zabini started.

Rodolphus squeezed his shoulder, warning his apprentice to be silent. Zabini reluctantly shut his mouth and glared balefully at Draco, who smirked.

_Watch the master work, you miserable little sod._

Bellatrix whirled on Zabini, frightening in her white-hot rage. "Did you try to have my nephew killed by that disgusting half-breed?"

"Calm down, Bella." Rastaban looked bored by his sister-in-law's theatrics. As ever, he was respectful and polite as he turned to Draco, inquiring, "Are you badly hurt?"

Draco shook his head, mildly surprised that his uncle's brother looked genuinely concerned. Not for the first time, Draco wondered how Rastaban had become a Death Eater. He didn't seem as committed as his brother and sister-in-law. He was…Well, he was kind of a nice guy.

Rodulphus didn't appear nearly so worried for his nephew's well-being as he demanded, "And how did you escape this alleged trap?" He stressed the word "alleged" to show how little stock he put in Draco's story.

"Something came out of the trees," Draco replied, inspiration striking him. He was really, really good at lying, he was discovering. "A huge silver cat. It attacked Greyback, but not before Pansy…" He let his voice trail off, finishing in a small voice, "I just ran."

Draco knew how convincing he sounded. Like all lies, his was shot through with enough of the truth – and enough of his raw emotion about Pansy's death – to sound completely plausible.

Bellatrix swallowed the tale easily. "Potter," she declared, her heavy-lidded eyes narrowing, her features contorting into a hateful scowl. "I told the Dark Lord it was him in the garden that night. He's an Animagus, like his filthy Muggle-loving father!"

"I saw Granger and Weasley and Loony Lovegood in the Forest, too," Draco informed them. He saw Zabini stiffen at the news that Luna was still alive and well. "They saw the Dark Mark. I told them I'd come check it out while they got help. We don't have much time," he concluded, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting teachers and students to appear at the bottom of the steps any moment – which, he supposed, they might. "They'll have raised the alarm by now."

It truly was an inspired story, Draco congratulated himself. He understood the Death Eaters' plan quite well, having operated from a similar premise on the night he and his companions had rescued Ollivander from the heavily-guarded Malfoy Manor. The Death Eaters knew they couldn't fight Dumbledore if the Headmaster had a chance to prepare for their arrival; like Draco and his friends, they had only dared enter enemy territory because they believed they could come and go in secret, thanks to the passage Draco had unwittingly pointed them toward.

The Death Eaters had neither the numbers nor the courage to face Dumbledore if the Headmaster was warned of their presence. Their only hope of success had been in surprise, and thanks to Zabini's side-plot, which had led Weasley and Hermione and Luna out onto the grounds, that hope was gone.

They would have to leave now, and Dumbledore would be safe, at least for one more night. Draco's mission could end as the Headmaster had planned, and Potter would be kept out of the middle of it. Not a happy ending, but better than Dumbledore being ambushed by a half-dozen Death Eaters in the dead of night.

Bellatrix had opened her mouth to shriek at Zabini for his stupidity when Snape came stalking up the stairs.

"What are you doing here, Severus?" Rodolphus demanded, his dislike of Snape evident in his voice.

Snape regarded the other man imperiously. "I just met Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood in the hallway. They informed me that the Dark Mark has appeared above this tower. It seems your little party, to which I note I was not invited, is about to be crashed, Rodolphus."

Draco stared down at the tops of his shoes, willing himself not to snicker. He could see how much Snape enjoyed chiding Rodolphus Lestrange for having the audacity to enter Snape's territory, Hogwarts, without involving him in the plan.

"We have to go," Rastaban, level-headed as ever, told his brother. "If we wait for Dumbledore now, we'll be caught. Besides, he'll be ready for us."

Before Draco could breathe a sigh of relief, footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. A muffled voice confirmed that someone was indeed out there, on the platform.

The Death Eaters looked at one another, malicious grins replacing their worried frowns. The staircase they were standing on was the only entrance to the Astronomy Tower from the castle below; whoever was out on that platform had to have Apparated there. And only one person Draco knew of could Apparate in or out of Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster.

"Go." Snape nudged Draco forward. When Rodolphus started to protest, Snape hissed, "It is the Dark Lord's will that Draco perform this task, or had you forgotten that?"

Feeling like his feet had turned to lead, Draco forced himself to walk forward, pull open the door, and stride out to face Dumbledore.

Luna and Hermione split up as soon as they reached the castle and pointed a bewildered Johanna Evanston toward the Slytherin dungeon. Ron had gone on ahead (Johanna wasn't in very good shape for walking at the moment) to find McGonagall.

Luna half-expected to be set upon by Death Eaters at every turn, but the hallways were empty. She roused the Ravenclaw D.A. members without incident and was on her way to the Great Hall with them, to meet Ron and McGonagall, when she ran head-first into Snape.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Head of Slytherin House demanded, cold fury flashing in his black eyes. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour?"

Before Luna could explain, Hermione came hurtling down the stairs with all of the Gryffindor D.A. members in tow. Snape frowned at them so severely, the little Creevey brothers hid behind Neville – perhaps not the smartest shield to choose, since Neville was terrified of Snape on a good day.

"Please, sir, there's been an attack," Hermione began. She hastily filled Snape in on the events in the Forbidden Forest (leaving out that Draco had Transfigured into a silver panther to kill Greyback, though she did tell him Greyback was dead). She concluded, breathlessly, with the Dark Mark appearing above the Astronomy Tower.

As she listened to Hermione recount the awful events of less than an hour ago, Luna willed herself not to picture poor Pansy Parkinson alone out there on the Forest floor. Instinctively, she touched her bruised throat, feeling the deep scratches where Greyback's fingernails had punctured her skin. She shivered, realizing how lucky she was not to be lying out there, too.

On the heels of the fear, however, came a sudden anger. Though she realized it was irrational, part of Luna was glad the Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts tonight. She didn't much feature being cast as the helpless damsel in distress, tied to a tree and set out as monster-bait; Luna knew how to fight, and all at once, since their enemies had chosen to bring the fight to them, she was ready to make the Death Eaters regret taking on Dumbledore's Army on their home turf.

"Silence," Snape commanded when Hermione finished her tale, as the D.A. members were all whispering at the news that a student had been killed.

Luna thought he would order them all back to bed – an order she had no intention of obeying, not with Draco off somewhere on his own facing down heaven knew how many enemies. To her surprise, Snape went on briskly, "Miss Granger, take these students to the Great Hall and tell Professor McGonagall everything you just told me. Miss Lovegood," he turned to Luna, "come with me."

Startled, Luna nevertheless hurried along after Snape, mouthing _"good luck" _to Hermione. She had to practically run to keep pace with the professor's long strides as he headed for the Astronomy Tower.

"I understand you and Draco have become close these last few months."

Luna nodded. She couldn't imagine why Snape was interested in her love life, but since he was taking her toward Draco, which was exactly where she wanted to be, she didn't question him.

"How much has Draco told you about his involvement with the Dark Lord?"

"Not very much," Luna admitted. Her voice sounded even more breathy than usual, as she had to take three strides to each of Snape's. "I know he took the Dark Mark, but he isn't really loyal to You-Know-Who. He wants to help Harry defeat him."

Luna trusted Snape. She knew Harry didn't; she knew even Draco had his doubts. But Luna was supremely confident that no one could hoodwink Professor Dumbledore. If he trusted Snape, that was more than enough for Luna.

Besides, Snape was the one teacher who had never treated Luna like her airy nature made her an imbecile. He wasn't exactly nice to her – Snape was only "nice" to Slytherins, and that really just meant he wasn't foul to them. Still, he had always shown Luna fairness, even a small measure of respect because of her talent for Potions.

"You're certain of that?" Snape pressed her now, whirling in a cloud of black robes to face her.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to the Astronomy Tower. Luna could hear muffled voices arguing above them.

Death Eaters.

Heart pounding at the closeness of their enemies, Luna nevertheless paused to consider Snape's question thoughtfully. Yes, she decided, she was certain of Draco. No matter what secrets he was keeping from her, no matter what he needed to do that couldn't involve her or Harry or the others, she was certain that Draco was not on You-Know-Who's side. He was a better person than he gave himself credit for, to begin with, and more importantly, Draco had loved his parents. He would never support You-Know-Who after their murder, anymore than Harry would join forces with the man who had killed his parents.

"I'm certain," she told Snape, her serene smile only adding to the conviction of her words.

Snape appraised her for a moment, looking almost impressed, the way he did whenever Luna excelled on her Potions homework. Then he said, quite mysteriously, "Remember that."

Luna shivered. She had a feeling whatever was happening at the top of these stairs, it had the potential to change everything, forever.

"Stay here," Snape instructed her, pointing to a shadowy crevice beneath the stairs. "And don't come out, no matter what you see or hear. Is that clear?"

Wanting to argue, Luna reminded herself that she was only a fifth-year witch: She didn't have any right to contradict a professor. She wasn't Harry, who as the Chosen One had some authority to make his own rules. If Snape told her to stay hidden, she would stay hidden – at least until she saw somebody worth fighting.

Nodding, Luna melted into the blackness, and listened.

The Headmaster was standing near the rail that surrounded the outer edge of the Astronomy Tower. As Draco stepped into the cool night air, he caught a glimpse of dark hair behind Dumbledore – Potter, disappearing beneath his Invisibility Cloak.

_Perfect, _Draco thought sarcastically, gritting his teeth. _How am I supposed to save Dumbledore AND Potter from our enemies?_

Being a hero never seemed to get an easier.

Draco brought his feet down a bit harder than was necessary onto the worn wooden boards of the platform, deliberately making enough noise to attract Dumbledore's attention. The Headmaster swiveled, gazing at him quizzically.

"Good evening, Draco," he began pleasantly, as if he'd invited Draco up here for a cup of tea.

"I'm not alone," Draco broke in, trying to sound menacing, when what he was really after was warning Dumbledore that the Death Eaters were right behind him.

With an almost imperceptible nod of understanding, Dumbledore flicked his wand toward the spot where Potter had vanished from sight. Draco had a feeling the Chosen One had just been Immobilized.

"You might as well lower your wand," Draco continued, loudly enough for the Death Eaters behind the door to hear. "You attack me, and my friends will kill everyone in this school before we leave."

Slowly, Bellatrix, Rodolphus (still grasping Zabini's arm, though Draco's Housemate looked like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment), Rastaban, the Carrows and Snape filed out onto the platform. Dumbledore watched them assemble, his wand resting lightly on the tips of his blackened fingers.

"I assure you," he said, his voice taking in each of them, "there will be no need for violence."

Bellatrix cackled, dancing around the platform like some kind of demonic ballerina, her heavy-lidded eyes glowing with madness. "Did you hear that, Draco? 'No need for violence.' Bah!" She whirled on Dumbledore, sneering. "Why do you think we're here, you old fool? To take lessons?"

"I'm sure I know why _you're _here, Bellatrix. The question is, why is Draco here?"

His eyes fastened on Dumbledore's, Draco tried to silently convey to the Headmaster that this treachery was not of his making. He wished he could know what Dumbledore was thinking; he was trying to work out what the Headmaster wanted him to do, now that their carefully-laid plans had been derailed.

Even more concerning, Draco couldn't help noting that the Headmaster looked quite sickly. He was breathing shallowly and leaning his hip against the railing for support, like he found it difficult to stand upright. His skin had a greenish, waxy sort of pallor to it.

"I'm here because the Dark Lord ordered me to kill you," Draco retorted, infusing his words with a venom he didn't feel.

With his eyes, he asked, _Is that still what you want me to do? Right here, right now?_

"I thought that might be it." Dumbledore appeared entirely nonplussed. "I assume that's why you've been trying to get close to Harry all these months – so you could find a way to me."

Bellatrix feigned a yawn. "We're all aware of how brilliant you are, Albus. But not smart enough to save your own life in the end, were you?"

"I am curious," Dumbledore went on smoothly, his eyes never leaving Draco's, "as to how you managed to get your friends into the castle."

"I can't take credit for that, I'm afraid," Draco answered, relieved that Dumbledore was creating an opening for him to explain, as best he could in front of their audience, how this situation had come about. "That was Zabini's doing. There's a passage in the Great Hall. Leads out to Hogsmeade."

"I see. That was quite clever, Blaise," Dumbledore observed kindly.

Zabini refused to look at the Headmaster. He kept glancing at the open doorway leading back to the stairs, as if calculating his odds of being able to make a run for it, but Rodolphus had a death-grip on his arm.

Dumbledore directed his next words to Draco, and they were heavy with meaning. "Years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

"You dare speak of the Dark Lord? Finish him, Draco!" Bellatrix howled. "Do it, now!"

Draco stared hard into Dumbledore's ice-blue eyes for one more long moment. He thought – he hoped – he knew what Dumbledore was saying: _Don't lose yourself. Don't become like Voldemort. Do what I've asked, but only if you can do it without murder in your heart._

This was it. The defining moment of his life. Draco knew he still had a choice, because Dumbledore was offering to let him off the hook, even in these final seconds. Draco could lower his wand, and Snape, who had made the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa, would take his place. Snape could be the one to cast the Killing Curse that would end Dumbledore's life.

Draco supposed Voldemort would forgive him for being too weak to kill Dumbledore, since the deed itself would be done. Besides, Voldemort seemed to have bigger plans for his protégé than mere murder.

Except that was no ordinary wand in Dumbledore's hand. It was the Elder Wand. And hidden beneath Draco's robes, magically concealed inside a small, lime-green rock shaped curiously like a seahorse, a rock that had until two days ago hung around Luna Lovegood's neck, was the Resurrection Stone.

Draco's task was to be the keeper of the Deathly Hallows. Dumbledore had chosen _him, _not Snape, for that mission. Standing there in the light of a spring moon, looking into the sad blue eyes of the greatest wizard that had ever lived, Draco realized his choice was already made.

_I won't let you down, _he promised Dumbledore silently, hoping the old man could read the message in his sapphire gaze. _I know how to survive this. I understand what you've been saying to us all for years, about a weapon more powerful than Voldemort's hate._

_I won't lose myself. I have something Voldemort doesn't have. _

_I can love._

Draco thought he saw the ghost of a smile flicker across Dumbledore's face. That was all the confirmation he needed that the Headmaster had understood all Draco couldn't say, and that he was ready for the end.

"I don't need your help."

With that simple declaration, Draco aimed his wand directly at Dumbledore's heart, never taking his eyes off the old man's. Dumbledore made no move to defend himself.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Dumbledore fell.

He toppled slowly over the railing, his midnight-blue robes billowing gracefully around him. He fell through the starry darkness, taking the Elder Wand with him.

Its power, however, did not die with Dumbledore. Draco knew it, because the instant the Killing Curse touched the Headmaster, a strange surge of energy flowed through Draco, seeming to radiate outward from the Resurrection Stone hidden inside Luna's seahorse charm.

Draco realized, with almost overpowering awe, that he was now master of the Elder Wand. And if he'd needed further proof, he soon had it, because all at once, he could see Potter underneath his Invisibility Cloak.

The Chosen One looked stricken, for the moment frozen in place not by magic (whatever spell Dumbledore had cast to immobilize him would have been lifted the moment Dumbledore died) but by horror. Draco wished Potter would have the sense to stay quiet, to not reveal his presence to the Death Eaters, even as he knew that wouldn't happen.

The momentary stunned silence was broken by Bellatrix's gleeful cry. "He's dead! Well done, Draco, well done – "

Her celebration was cut short as Potter threw aside his Invisibility Cloak. He pointed his wand straight at Draco and yelled, "_Expell -_"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Draco's answering spell was too quick for Potter, though only because he'd been expecting the attack. Potter's wand sailed out of his hand and into the far corner.

Bellatrix's eyes bulged with fury. "How did you – "

"No doubt Dumbledore found him in the Forest," Snape broke in coolly, suggesting that he'd heard Draco telling the Death Eaters about the giant silver cat in the woods attacking Greyback. They didn't want the Death Eaters questioning who the Animagus was if it wasn't Potter. "The Granger girl said the Headmaster was out on the grounds, having been alerted that Greyback was here."

Luckily, Potter was too consumed by grief and rage to contradict what Snape was saying. Wandless, the Chosen One nevertheless stalked forward, his fists clenched at his sides, obviously prepared to attack Draco with his fists.

With a flick of his wand, Draco sent Potter to his knees. His mind was whirling with scenarios for how he might get Potter out of this alive without blowing his own cover; Draco hoped Snape was on his side in this, because at the moment, things looked grim for the Boy Who Lived.

"We can end this all, right here, tonight!" Bellatrix exulted. "Do it, Draco! Kill him!"

"No." That was Snape, placing a restraining hand on Bellatrix's arm. Draco managed not to look relieved. "You know the Dark Lord's wishes. Only he is to kill the Chosen One."

"Pity," Draco sneered down at Potter, who continued to glare up at him with pure hatred. "I would've enjoyed ending your miserable life, Potter."

Draco couldn't let his real emotions show, of course. Like anguish. And regret. And fear. And terrible, overpowering sadness.

"We trusted you!" Potter spit at him. "_I trusted you_!"

Ignoring the sharp stab of pain Potter's words sent through him, Draco cocked his head to the side and smirked, making his words as cruel as he possibly could. The deed had been done: Dumbledore was dead; he couldn't go back, couldn't restore the trust Potter had placed in him. He could only go forward.

Which meant he needed to be convincing now, to persuade everyone on that platform that he was Voldemort's man, through and through.

"That's because you're a fool," Draco observed. "Just like your dead master."

Before Potter could jump to his feet and charge him, as Draco knew the Chosen was about to do, Draco kicked him hard in the face. Potter's head lolled to the side; he was knocked out, blood streaming from a busted lower lip.

_And stay down, _Draco willed him. He took no pleasure in hurting Potter, but he knew he had to do _something _before Potter's heroics managed to get him killed.

"We have to go," Rastaban reminded them, as the first sounds of battle erupted below. Draco hadn't realized until just then that the Carrows, Rodolphus and Zabini had already left the platform; apparently, they were down below, protecting the Death Eaters' escape route. "We have to get back to Hogsmeade and Apparate out of here before the Order of the Phoenix shows up."

"Follow me," Snape instructed.

Draco allowed himself to be shepherded along by Snape. He didn't look back at Potter. He didn't look at the battle going on around him, D.A. members and teachers dueling Death Eaters. He didn't look at the broken figure lying crumpled at the foot of the Astronomy Tower.

Draco just kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other, down the long stone path toward the school's gate. He didn't think about what had just happened. He didn't think about the fact that he had taken two lives tonight, Greyback's and Dumbledore's. He didn't think about Pansy. He didn't think about Voldemort, waiting to congratulate him back at Malfoy Manor, or about Zabini and Rodolphus, whose punishment was likely to be death.

Draco thought about Luna.

_Luna. _

He thought about the night he'd called her to the secret chamber beneath the Great Hall, the first night he'd asked her to help him get close to Potter. He could see, now, that the spark of their romance had been ignited that night: He'd been drawn to her stubbornness, the way she'd charged recklessly into battle, and charmed by her serene, airy nature, smitten in spite of himself. He hadn't fallen for her right then – Draco didn't believe in love at first sight – but the seed had been planted. She had intrigued him in that first encounter, and every day since, she'd continued to amaze him.

_Luna._

He thought about leading her, shivering and exhausted, up to the Room of Requirement after the fight with Greyback in his parents' garden. He remembered wondering what she was wearing beneath those sheets, and how her honey-blonde hair had made a curtain around her pretty face on her pillow. He'd known then that he was falling for her, known it even more sharply when he'd seen her leave the Owlery with Potter, the evening he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion that they were a couple. He thought about what a sleepless night he'd spent after that, helpless in the face of his own jealousy.

_Luna._

He thought about the time they'd nearly kissed, when McGonagall had interrupted them, how Luna's topaz eyes had drifted automatically shut as his mouth had descended toward hers. And that day in the Room of Hidden Things, after the fight with Weasley in Hogsmeade, when he'd thrown caution to the wind and just kissed her, like he'd been dying to do for weeks, and she had been everything he'd known she would be – warm and soft and passionate and beautiful. He thought about saying goodbye on the Hogwarts Express at Christmas, the sweetness of her smile when he'd given her the seahorse charm necklace, the breathtaking way she'd kissed him, turning his blood to smoke.

_Luna._

He thought about lying in her arms the night he'd lost his parents and knowing he could face anything with this girl beside him. He thought about telling her he loved her, the first time he'd said that to any girl, gazing into her lovely eyes and seeing his whole future there, every happy moment for the rest of his life centering on the perfect, odd, wonderful, gorgeous creature who had, for reasons Draco would never be able to understand, chosen to love him, too.

_Luna._

Dumbledore's last act in the world had been to warn Draco not to lose himself to Voldemort. For months, Draco had worried that the Dark Mark on his arm meant he would have to become a monster to rival Voldemort if he was to help Potter, protect the Hallows, and take his revenge.

Draco knew Dumbledore wasn't some naïve fool. Dumbledore had his hero in Potter; he didn't need Draco to be good or pure or wholesome. Like Snape, Draco was useful to Dumbledore precisely because he _wasn't _a hero – he was willing and able to do things Potter would never have considered, believing the ends would, ultimately, justify the means. Things like killing Dumbledore.

But to complete the task Dumbledore had entrusted to him, Draco could see now that he would have to fight against becoming a monster. He had mastered the Elder Wand not through violence but through love, the only thing truly more powerful than death. One day, if things went according to Dumbledore's plan, Draco believed he would have the chance to surrender the Elder Wand to Potter. If he allowed himself to become so much like Voldemort that he would put his selfish desire for revenge above what needed to be done for the Chosen One to fulfill his destiny, Draco knew he couldn't be counted on to hand that power over.

And so, as Hogwarts faded into the background, Draco focused on the one person he trusted to anchor him to goodness, because she was the person who somehow managed to bring out the best in him, even when he was determined to be at his worst.

He thought about Luna, and he vowed to come back to her one day.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Together Again

Harry didn't seek Luna out until they were on the Hogwarts Express, the school year finally finished. Luna didn't blame him for taking so long. Her heart had nearly broken as she'd watched Harry kneel beside the Headmaster's body in the courtyard that terrible night; she had seen Harry in some of his most desperate moments, and nothing – not even when poor, brave Sirius Black had died – could quite compare to his overwhelming agony at losing Dumbledore.

Right in the midst of that awfulness, with Ginny cradling Harry against her and every single Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, not to mention most of the professors, in tears, Hagrid had emerged from the Forest carrying Pansy Parkinson's lifeless body. The Slytherins had gasped in horror; poor Johanna Evanston had screamed and collapsed, having to be revived by Nurse Pomfrey.

Luna had felt the pain of so much loss slice through her like a jagged blade. Pansy had died to save Draco; Dumbledore had died to save them all. And Draco…Draco was gone, gone to fulfill some mysterious mission that was sure to be dangerous, maybe even deadly.

Clutching Neville, who had stood by her side during the battle with the Death Eaters inside the castle, Luna had let her tears flow freely for the two souls – both heroes in their own way – that had flown from the world that night. And she had cried as well for her own private loss.

Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress, had ordered the students back to their dormitories as officials from the Ministry of Magic began to arrive, so Luna hadn't had the chance to speak to Harry or Ron or Hermione that night. Exams had been rescheduled or canceled. Some parents had arrived the next morning to take their children home. While most students had stayed behind for the Headmaster's funeral, they had kept to their individual Houses, speaking in hushed tones, talking (and crying) quietly together in small groups.

For her part, Luna had kept to herself. She knew the rumors circling the castle about Snape, Draco and Zabini being involved in Dumbledore's murder. She didn't say a word to anyone about what had happened that night, in the Forest with Greyback or on the Astronomy Tower with Draco and Dumbledore. She saw the sidelong glances people gave her, but no one, not even her friends amongst the D.A., confronted her with their suspicions about her boyfriend.

All told, it had been a sad, lonely few days, ones Luna would always remember as some of her darkest at Hogwarts, capped off by the unspeakably sad yet strangely beautiful funeral of Professor Duumbledore.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had been seated a few rows ahead of where Neville, Seamus, Dean, the Patil twins, the Creevey brothers, Luna, and the rest of the D.A. were arranged near the back. Everyone had cried, of course, even some of the boys. Luna hadn't paid much attention to what was said; sitting between Neville and Parvati, she had stared out over the black surface of the lake, thinking about Draco, about Harry, about poor Pansy, about brave Professor Dumbledore, wishing it could have all turned out differently.

She hadn't told a soul about what Snape had intimated to her in the hallway – that Draco was not, in fact, on You-Know-Who's side – nor had she told anyone that she had heard Dumbledore's final moments from her hiding place. Just as Professor McGonagall, Neville, Ron and Hermione had burst onto the stairs leading up to the Astronomy Tower, Luna, her ears echoing with Draco's Killing Curse, had heard Bellatrix Lestrange cackle with joy; moments later, the first of the Death Eaters had appeared at the bottom of the steps, and the battle had begun. Luna had slipped out of the shadows to fight alongside her classmates, none of whom had seemed to realize that she'd been hiding there all along.

She had seen Draco hurrying down the steps with Snape and his aunt, but by then she had been too busy helping Neville fight off that horrid Carrow woman to even try to catch Draco's eye. Not that she would have. Luna had understood by then that Draco could not remain at Hogwarts castle.

At the time, Luna had been too numb with shock and grief to tell anyone what she had heard. Over the next few days, as she'd mulled it over, she'd concluded that it was best to keep to herself what she had witnessed. She could tell by the way Harry, Ron and Hermione all avoided her that they believed Draco was a murderer. She didn't think they were angry with her, of course. Rather, she knew they were dreading breaking that nasty bit of news to her.

Luna was warmed by their concern, though they need not have worried. She didn't believe for a second that Draco had betrayed them.

She didn't pretend to know what had led up to the scene on the Astronomy Tower, of course. Luckily, Luna was comfortable with ambiguity, with the not knowing that would have driven someone like Hermione crazy. All along, Luna had been aware Draco was holding back secrets; when he'd broken up with her, just days before the Headmaster's death, he'd admitted that he still had "something" to do that couldn't involve her. She could have chosen to believe that "something" was betraying Harry (and, more to the point, her) by killing Dumbledore in cold blood, yet Luna's heart told her that wasn't the case.

Snape had exhorted her not to forget that she was certain of Draco's loyalty. In the aftermath of Dumbledore's death, Luna's faith in the boy she had chosen to love did not waver, not for a moment. She accepted what had happened with the calm assurance that, though she might never understand why he had done such a terrible thing, she already knew the only truth that mattered: Draco Malfoy was not a servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Can I talk to you?"

Harry stood in the doorway of the compartment where Neville, Parvati, and Padma were sitting quietly with Luna, as the Hogwarts Express neared King's Cross Station. Neville practically jumped to his feet, stammering, "I'll, uh, I think I'll go see what Dean and Seamus are up to. See ya, Luna."

Parvati and Padma, obviously no more eager than Neville to be privy to whatever Harry wanted to say to Luna (which everyone knew would be about Draco), hurried off as well. "'Bye, Luna," the twins murmured, cutting sympathetic glances at Harry, who still looked pale and drawn.

"Hi, Harry," Luna said brightly. "Would you like to sit down?"

Sinking onto the seat opposite her, Harry ran a hand distractedly through his messy dark hair, the way he always did when he was upset. Luna bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew solemnity was the order of the day, but she loved that little quirk of Harry's.

"Listen, Luna," Harry began hesitantly. "There's something I have to tell you. It's about the night Dumbledore died."

Luna nodded encouragingly, trying not to squirm. She hated this. She hated putting Harry through the charade of telling her what she already knew, what he believed would be devastating news for her, but the fact of the matter was, Luna trusted her intuition. And her instincts were telling her not to reveal, not even to Harry (whom she would have trusted with her life), that by Snape's arrangement she too had witnessed what had happened on the Astronomy Tower that night.

Besides, she knew Harry wouldn't understand how she could still be convinced of Draco's goodness after what he'd done. If she told him that Draco was now the master of the Elder Wand, she knew Harry would never believe that Dumbledore had maneuvered the pieces carefully to achieve that very result, which was what Luna suspected. Harry would think instead that Draco had murdered Dumbledore so he could take the Elder Wand for his real master, You-Know-Who.

If Dumbledore hadn't told Harry his plans for the Elder Wand, or even that he possessed it, Luna assumed the Headmaster must have had a good reason. Even in death, she trusted Dumbledore's wisdom. She would not be the one to tell Harry something Dumbledore had wanted kept from him.

Unfortunately, that all added up to Luna keeping quiet while Harry suffered needlessly, believing he was hurting her with the truth.

Harry's eyes met Luna's, a picture of agony in emerald green. "I was on the Astronomy Tower that night, with Dumbledore. We'd been somewhere…"

A cloud passed over his handsome face. Luna could tell Harry was remembering something awful. He shook the memory off quickly. "Anyway, when we got back, we saw the Dark Mark over the Tower. Dumbledore rushed up there, thinking someone had been killed, but it was a trap. The Death Eaters were waiting for us."

Harry paused. Luna nodded for him to go on. "Malfoy was there," Harry concluded, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "He was with the Death Eaters. He…He killed Dumbledore, Luna."

Luna arranged her features into a perfectly placid mask. "You think he betrayed us?" she asked lightly.

"I know he did." Harry's gaze became stormy. "I'm sorry to tell you like this. I didn't know if I should. I mean, Malfoy's gone now, obviously. Gone to serve Voldemort. So I wasn't sure it mattered. But, well, Ginny thought you ought to know. She would've told you herself, except I thought, if you had to hear it, you should hear it from me."

Cocking her head to the side, Luna studied Harry, wondering why he was taking advice from Ginny now. She would have expected him to be confiding in Hermione, like usual.

Maybe the four of them – Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny – were going to find happiness after all, Luna reflected hopefully. Ron obviously cared for Hermione, despite what a jerk he could be sometimes, and surely Hermione still had some feelings for him. Still, Luna didn't miss the long, yearning glances Hermione continued to shoot at Harry when she thought no one was looking, or the way their every small touch seemed charged with meaning.

Of course Ginny had always been crazy over Harry, anyone could see that, no matter how many other boys she had dated. As for Harry? Honestly, Luna had to admit she wasn't certain which girl Harry's heart belonged to. She suspected Hermione and Ginny were important to Harry in different ways. And when she stepped back to consider what was at stake for everyone involved…Luna thought she knew both Harry and Hermione pretty well, and she could see them, by silent mutual consent, choosing a harder path, one that would lead them away from each other, so they could keep the friendships they both treasured.

It was difficult for Luna to understand how they could give up on one another like that, but then again, what she felt for Draco was probably difficult (if not downright impossible) for Harry or Hermione to understand. Love was complicated, no doubt about it.

Harry was watching her expectantly, clearly anticipating (and dreading) a dramatic reaction. Luna roused herself from her musings to ask evenly, "Are you going to tell the Ministry what happened?"

So far as she knew, Harry hadn't told a soul that he had actually witnessed Dumbledore's murder, just as she hadn't. Now, she was relieved when he shook his head, because it meant he wouldn't be serving as a murder witness against Draco.

Luna wasn't sure if the Ministry would go after a Death Eater anymore, because You-Know-Who's followers certainly did seem to be running things lately. But for a murder as high-profile as Dumbledore's, if someone had come forward claiming to have witnessed the crime first-hand and naming Draco as the killer, Luna was afraid the Ministry would have no choice but to act. She didn't think she could stand for Draco to be locked up in Azkaban. Not knowing where he was and if he was all right was one kind of torture, but at least she had hope he was alive and well somewhere; knowing he was suffering in a cold, dark cell would have been almost unbearable for her.

"I don't trust the Ministry," Harry declared bitterly. "Not since Umbridge. Dumbledore didn't put much stock in them, either."

Luna nodded. Beyond her own selfish reasons for wanting Harry to stay quiet on the subject of Dumbledore's killer, she agreed with his opinion of the Ministry: Luna had learned from her dad to have a healthy distrust of authority figures.

"What will you do now?" she inquired, out of genuine curiosity.

Harry stared wistfully out the window. Once again, Luna noted sadly, he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I have to finish what Dumbledore started," he replied, more to himself than to her. "I have to find a way to stop Voldemort, for good."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Harry turned to her, surprised. "But your dad…"

"My dad would understand," Luna assured him truthfully. She hadn't offered to come along impulsively; she had thought a lot about where her life should go from here, and the conclusion she had come to was that, as long as Harry had to fight, she would, too. Luna would have done anything to help Harry. Besides Draco, he was her best friend. She knew he was closer to Ron and Hermione, but that didn't matter to Luna. Harry would always be very special to her, and she would have followed him to hell and back if he needed her.

After a moment's consideration, Harry shook his head. "Thanks, Luna. You'd be great help, but I couldn't put you in the middle of this. What I'm doing, it's…Well, it's dangerous, and it might even be hopeless. I wish I didn't even need to take Ron and Hermione with me," he admitted, looking guilty for putting his friends in harm's way. "I just can't do it alone."

Luna reached out and laid a gentle hand on Harry's knee. "There's no shame in letting your friends help you, Harry," she reminded him wisely. "Everyone needs friends."

Clearly unconvinced, Harry nevertheless didn't argue the point. Instead, he asked hopefully, "You'll look after the D.A. for me next year? Keep Neville and Ginny out of too much trouble?"

Luna smiled brightly. "Oh, I'm sure we'll get into lots of trouble," she answered airily. "Probably not as much as when you're around, of course."

Harry grinned, then suddenly became serious again, placing his hand over Luna's where it still rested on his knee. He searched her eyes.

"You're really all right?" he pressed earnestly. "About Malfoy?"

"I'll be fine, Harry. My mum always said, things have a way of sorting themselves out." She offered him a serene smile. "It'll all be put right in the end, you'll see."

Harry studied her for a long moment, almost as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time. "You know, Luna," he commented thoughtfully, "you might just be the bravest woman I've ever met."

Luna laughed. The sound was so light and happy that Harry suddenly appeared less troubled.

She stood, reached across the aisle and hugged him, planting a quick, sisterly kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you soon, Harry," she promised, as the train slowed for its approach to King's Cross, where Luna knew her dad would be waiting, anxious to be sure she was okay. "You'll be at Bill Weasley's wedding, won't you?"

Harry nodded. "Mrs. Weasley would kill us if we missed it," he remarked, with a wry smile. "Somehow I don't think she'd even rank defeating Voldemort a bigger event than this wedding."

Luna thought Ron's mother had a point. Some things were more important than war, and love was definitely one of them.

Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding was really beautiful, like something out of a storybook. Seated beside her under the wedding tent, Luna's dad agreed it was one of the loveliest ceremonies he'd ever been to.

"Helps that the bride's got some Veela blood in her, of course," Xenophilius commented in an aside to Luna, as Bill and Fleur were declared bonded for life. The balloons behind them burst into tiny golden bells and birds of paradise that zipped about the tent, singing.

Nearly two months had passed since Dumbledore's death. Time had eased the pain of that loss for all of them, Luna could see that just by looking at Ron, Hermione, and Harry (even in his guise as a red-haired Weasley cousin, Luna knew Harry – she could tell him by his expression). She was happy to see the three of them getting along so well.

For her part, Luna had reached a kind of peace about the whole situation. She hadn't heard a word from Draco. Nevertheless, she continued to believe in his innocence – not of the deed, of course, as that was irrefutable, but of the betrayal Harry believed was behind Draco's decision to kill Dumbledore. Luna's summer had in fact been surprisingly pleasant. _The Quibbler _was selling at record rates; she had spent a great deal of time helping her dad with their aging printing press. When she wasn't doing that, she had taken to visiting her mother's secluded valley, sitting quietly amongst the trees while she worked her way through a stack of old books on Magical Creatures she'd discovered in her parents' attic soon after arriving home. Her days had gradually taken on a routine Luna found satisfying, even as she missed and worried for Draco.

That was the nature of things, Luna had learned: No matter how terrible the loss, no matter how overwhelming the grief, life went on. So she accepted the awful things that had happened in her usual bright, sunny way, and did her best to go on about the business of living.

After the ceremony, once the tent had vanished to reveal a gorgeous summer sun setting over the countryside around the Burrow and the guests had moved out onto the dance floor, Luna sat at one of the small, round tables, tapping her foot to the music of a live band. Her dad had stepped away to "discuss politics," as he put it, with some of the other men, including Arthur Weasley, leaving Luna momentarily by herself.

The music was quite catchy. Bill and Fleur were too busy chatting with their guests to dance, but Luna saw Ron dancing with Hermione (she suspected Viktor Krum's presence had something to do with the possessive way Ron was holding onto Hermione's waist) and Ginny dancing with Lee Jordan. Fred was flirting with one of Fleur's Veela cousins, while George was twirling the bride's little sister, Gabrielle, around and around the dance floor, much to the young girl's delight.

She was just about to get up and join the fun – Luna didn't mind dancing alone, if the music was good – when Charlie Weasley, short and stocky and almost tanned-looking from the freckles covering his face, appeared beside her. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

Luna smiled. "With you?"

Charlie held out his hand. "That's the general idea, yeah."

Surprised, since this was the first time she'd ever met Ron's older brother, Luna let Charlie lead her out onto the dance floor, where they swayed with the other couples. She waved to Ron and Hermione.

"I like your robes," Charlie remarked, nodding at Luna's paisley-yellow dressrobes, underneath which she wore a simple sundress of slightly darker yellow silk. "And your sunflower," he added, indicating the blossom in Luna's hair. "The color's fetching on you."

Accustomed to being the girl no boy ever noticed, Luna was flattered by Charlie's attention. She saw several of Fleur's Veela cousins eyeing her with envy. "Thank you," she answered brightly. "I like your freckles."

Charlie chuckled. "I've been keen to meet you for a while now. I'm a big fan of _The Quibbler._" Luna brightened at that, always pleased to discover a new fan of her dad's. "Hagrid tells me you fancy magical creatures, too. Ever thought of studying dragons?"

For the better part of an hour, Luna and Charlie danced, though they were mainly absorbed in talking about magical creatures. Luna was seriously considering following in her mother's footsteps and pursuing a career as a wizarding naturalist; Charlie told her it was a brilliant field and described every detail of his work with dragons in Romania, which Luna found fascinating. She knew most people were really scared of dragons, but then, most people thought Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were make-believe, too.

"Listen, I'd better go check if Bill needs any 'best man' duties from me," Charlie declared reluctantly, as another song – Luna had lost count of how many they'd danced to – ended. "Could I get you a drink?"

Luna nodded happily. "That would be nice. But you don't have to come back," she assured him. "I don't mind dancing by myself."

Charlie grinned devilishly, looking a lot like his younger twin brothers when he did. "I wouldn't be upholding the Weasley name if I let a pretty girl dance by herself," he teased. "Don't worry, I'll be back. I want to hear more about this 'Cherufe'."

Humming along with the music, Luna walked on aching feet back to her table. She saw Ginny and Hermione shooting her knowing looks and wondered absently if, at a certain age, all girls became hopelessly boy-crazy. Hermione at least should have been sensible enough to know Charlie was far too old to be interested in Luna, even if he was a terrible flirt. The two of them simply had a lot to talk about, since they were each intrigued by creatures whose beauty few people truly appreciated.

Luna had no more than sat down, however, when a silver light flooded the dance floor. She blinked in surprise as a Patronus in the form of a gorgeous lynx descended into the middle of the startled guests.

A hush fell over the crowd, the music instantly dying away.

The lynx opened its mouth. "The Ministry has fallen," the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt intoned. "Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Luna's heart stumbled in her chest. A second later, as the Patronus message disappeared, the wedding reception erupted into chaos.

She leapt to her feet to stand, frozen, as people started running every which way, shrieking. In the midst of the crowd, black shapes began to appear – Death Eaters. Luna glanced around frantically for her dad, but in the press of people, he was nowhere to be seen.

She did spot Hermione dragging Harry toward the edge of the crowd, away from danger, for which Luna was thankful. She also saw Professor Lupin casting Shield Charms as swiftly as he could.

_My wand…_

Grateful for Harry's words of warning in their D.A. meetings – _"Constant vigilance," _he had schooled them on many occasions, quoting Mad-Eye Moody, whom Luna thought the most brilliant Auror of all time, _"which means always have your wand handy" _– Luna slipped her wand out of the pocket of her dressrobes.

At that very instant, a black shape materialized beside her. Beneath the hood, Luna thought she caught a glimpse of sapphire eyes, though she couldn't be sure; before she could react, the Death Eater grasped her elbow, turned on the spot, and Disapparated.

The moment they landed in the secluded valley behind Luna's rook-like house, Draco released her and leapt back. He pushed the black hood off his blonde hair, revealing his shadowed features, and cried, "Wait! I'm not going to hurt you, I swear."

Luna, poised to fire a Curse at her captor, instantly stilled, her wand aimed at Draco's heart.

She was so lovely, and he had missed her so much, all Draco wanted to do was stare at her. But he knew he owed her an explanation – to say the least. It was just, where to begin?

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, letting her see that he wasn't even holding his wand. "I know you don't have any reason to hear me out," he began, "but if you just – "

That was as far as Draco got in explaining the complicated web of lies he'd had to weave between Luna and himself to ensure the Dark Lord would never be master of the Deathly Hallows, because all at once, Luna let her wand fall to the forest floor. She had the most curious expression on her face – something between unspeakable joy, absolute incredulity, and single-minded determination – as she closed the gap between them in two strides, linked her arms behind Draco's neck, and kissed him with a passion so fierce it stole his breath.

It was the sort of kiss that stopped time. Draco found it impossible to concentrate on the questions he should have been asking himself – like why Luna wasn't Cursing him, and how she could possibly want to kiss him after what he'd done – as his fingers tangled in her cloud of honey-blonde curls.

"Missed you," he heard himself say. Luna pulled him closer, pressing harder against his lips as she molded her body to his.

Tugging apart the clasp at the front of his black robe, Luna pushed the cloak off of Draco's shoulders and, in one smooth motion, tipped his head back. She ran feather-light kisses from his jaw to the hollow of his throat. Draco's skin seemed to ignite wherever her lips touched; he was breathing raggedly, his eyes closed, too caught up in the wonderful sensation – like flying and falling at the same time – to protest when she grasped the hem of his black tee-shirt and pulled it off over his head.

Luna hesitated then, reaching out to touch the seahorse charm hanging around his neck. Draco thought the radiance of her smile could pale the moon. Her eyes crashed into his, smoldering in a way that set his pulse to racing.

"Don't ask me to stop," Luna murmured, leaning in to graze his lower lip with her teeth, her dreamy voice unusually urgent. "I don't want to stop. Not today."

_Well, bloody hell, when you put it that way – so much for being sensible…_

Draco's willpower crumbled. They sank together onto the grass. Draco spread his robe beneath Luna like a blanket and stretched his lithe body atop the length of her slender form. His lips never leaving hers, one hand still tangled in her hair, he slipped her dressrobes off her shoulders. He stroked her arms with his fingertips, taking his time exploring the soft white skin of her neck and throat, while ever-so-slowly inching her sundress up over her thighs and stomach.

His hands were trembling when he finally eased the silky fabric over her arms. She was absolutely perfect, Draco thought: slender and pale and lovely as a flower. He took a moment just to look at her. Luna smiled happily, completely unself-conscious.

"Are you sure about this?" he managed to ask, looking down into her eyes.

She nodded, brushing her knuckles gently across his cheek. "I love you," she said simply.

One hand resting lightly on her hip, Draco found the breath to whisper back, "You're beautiful. And I love you."

Later, Luna lay with her head on Draco's shoulder, her hair spilling across his bare chest, tracing aimless patterns on his stomach. He had conjured a blanket from her house to cover them; night was falling, and the air so high up was surprisingly cool for August.

The valley was as lovely as Luna had described that day in the Owlery – it seemed like a lifetime ago now – when she had told him about her mother's death. The air was perfumed with honeysuckle and jasmine. All around them, weeping willow trees swept the forest floor with their long, graceful branches. From below, the soft music of the river drifted up to them, an endless, sweet lullaby.

This was not the first time Draco had visited Luna's valley, though he didn't intend to tell her that. He'd been checking in on her all summer, keeping his distance, whenever he could sneak away from Malfoy Manor, which had become Death Eater central since his parents' deaths. Several times over the past two months, he'd hidden in these very trees, watching Luna while she sat cross-legged in the grass, her hair tucked behind her ears, combing through dusty old books with names like _Hippogriffs, Lords of the Sky _and _Familiars: A Guide to Cats, Toads, and Owls_.

As the moon rose above them, Draco knew he didn't have much time to spend with Luna. He wanted to stay right where he was, forever, but the Death Eaters would have finished their marauding by now, and he would be expected at Malfoy Manor. Not to mention that Luna's dad was probably sick with worry for her, not knowing that the Death Eater who had Apparated away from the Weasleys' home with his daughter had done so for the sole purpose of protecting her.

Nevertheless, Draco needed to explain himself to Luna before he left. And – though he certainly wasn't complaining about how the evening had turned out – he needed to know why she hadn't demanded that explanation straight away.

"How did you know?" he asked, lifting one of her silky curls and sliding it between his fingers. "How did you know I wasn't really a traitor?"

"Something Professor Snape said to me," Luna replied airily. "The night Professor Dumbledore died."

"Snape told you what I was doing?"

Draco made no attempt to hide his surprise. He had begun to suspect, as the summer had progressed and they'd spent more time together than ever before, that the Head of Slytherin House really did care about his happiness. But for Snape to reveal their plot to Luna, well, it was out-of-character, to say the least. Snape was not the trusting sort.

"Oh, he didn't tell me anything, really," Luna responded, to which Draco frowned in puzzlement. "He just asked me if I was certain I could trust you, and when I said I was, he told me not to forget that. So I didn't."

Draco was momentarily speechless. He'd played out his reunion with Luna a million times in his head this summer: He had always imagined they would either be at school or, if he was especially clever, on the Hogwarts Express, when he would concoct some scenario to get her off on her own, at which point she would fire off accusations at him, refusing to believe that he hadn't been using her and Potter all along to get to Dumbledore. On his less cynical days, Draco had even pictured himself eventually persuading her to allow him a second chance to prove his loyalty – a process, he had assumed, that would take months, if not longer, and might never result in winning back her heart.

So to discover that Luna had never in fact doubted him, that she didn't require a shred of proof other than her love for him, was enough to set Draco's head spinning.

_I always said she'd be tough to fool, but still…_

Shifting up onto one below so he could look into her eyes, Draco mused, "You remember when I told you that you're the strangest girl?"

Luna traced his lips with her fingertip, a rather hungry look in her eye. "Yes," she agreed happily.

"Well, you still are."

"I think that's what you like about me," Luna observed, stretching up to brush her lips softly across his jaw.

"One of the things," Draco confirmed, smiling wickedly, before pressing her back down into the grass with a burning kiss.

Eventually, they got around to talking again. Draco told her about Dumbledore's gifts, the Resurrection Stone (Luna touched the seahorse charm wonderingly when he got to that part) and the Elder Wand (which, for the time being, remained in Dumbledore's white tomb). Draco admitted that Voldemort was still looking for the Deathly Hallows, although taking down the Ministry had been his priority this summer.

Draco also told Luna about the mission Dumbledore had left him: to become a spy inside Voldemort's ranks. He relayed everything that had happened on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore and Potter that terrible night, leaving nothing out, not even how he'd kicked Potter in the face. It felt wonderful to be perfectly, wholly, completely honest with her, for the first time in their entire relationship, and even better when Luna kissed away the tears that tracked, unbidden, down Draco's cheeks as he described, for the first and last time, the Headmaster's final moments.

"What happened after?" she inquired gently, snuggling into his side. "After you left Hogwarts, I mean."

Draco told her about meeting the Dark Lord at his parents' house that night, how pleased Voldemort had been with his protégé's success, embracing Draco and declaring him "the son of his soul." He told her of Rodolphus Lestrange's fate, killed by his own wife, who, with the Dark Lord's permission, had taken a dark glee in (slowly and horribly) murdering the man who had almost cost Draco his moment of glory.

Draco spared Luna the details, but she shuddered anyway, inferring from what he left unsaid how much Rodolphus had suffered. "What about Zabini?" she asked in a small voice.

Wondering if she was hoping for good news or bad, Draco replied, "I wanted to watch the bastard die, I won't lie to you. But," he sighed, "I didn't."

Draco still wondered if he had done the right thing by intervening on Zabini's behalf, arguing (mostly with his aunt Bella, as Voldemort seemed content to let the two of them fight it out before passing the final judgment) that his Housemate had only helped Rodolphus because he mistakenly believed Draco was disloyal to the Dark Lord. Draco hadn't forgotten his vow that, one day, he would kill Zabini. He still carried the flame of retribution in his heart. Nevertheless, Draco didn't think he could live with being responsible for Zabini dying an excruciatingly slow death like his uncle Rodolphus had. That was a line Draco wasn't sure he could cross and remain the kind of man Dumbledore had wanted him to be.

In the end, Voldemort had declared that Draco could make use of Zabini if he so chose, though he had also warned a quivering Zabini not to interfere with his wishes ever again. Ultimately, Zabini had gone home with strict orders to keep his mouth shut about what had occurred on the rooftop; after all, he wasn't a Death Eater. He would be Draco's right-hand at Hogwarts, nothing more, until he had proven himself to Voldemort.

Draco would have slept easier if Zabini had seemed as frightened as he had on the rooftop, but from the smug way he'd marched out of Malfoy Manor, Draco suspected not even watching Dumbledore die had been enough to convince Zabini that being a Death Eater wasn't all he'd imagined it to be.

From Zabini's fate, Draco moved on to telling Luna everything he knew about the Dark Lord's plan to assert control over the wizarding world. He told her that Scrimgeour was dead; the Dark Lord's takeover of the Ministry of Magic had proven successful, as the new Minister, Pius Thicknesse, was under the Imperius Curse. He revealed what he knew of Voldemort's plans to purge their world of Muggle-borns through the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which would essentially put a legitimate face on genocide.

Luna didn't flinch from the cold, hard truth of what had already happened and what was yet to come. Draco admired her for that. He knew he was painting a frightening picture of the future for her, but as always, Luna was brave enough to meet the danger head-on.

"Snape will be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, now that Voldemort controls the Ministry," Draco went on. "And I expect to be made Head Boy, naturally."

"Naturally," Luna echoed lightly, trailing a finger over the Dark Mark on his arm. Draco was surprised that it no longer bothered him for Luna to see or touch Voldemort's brand. He supposed if she could hear him confess outright to Dumbledore's murder and not be repulsed, the Dark Mark couldn't phase her much.

"Oh, and the Carrows are going to be made professors. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies."

"But what about Professor Burbage?" Luna inquired, referring to their Muggle Studies teacher.

Draco grimaced, recalling a body twirling eerily above the dining room table in his parents' house, a giant snake slithering along the polished wood toward the helpless woman. "Don't ask," he muttered darkly, and Luna didn't.

It took some convincing on her part, yet eventually, Luna persuaded Draco that she needed to tell Longbottom and Ginny that he was really on their side. "Harry put the three of us in charge of the D.A. You can trust Neville and Ginny," she insisted, an edge of steel beneath her airy voice. "With the Carrows around, we're all going to need to work together to protect the Muggle-borns. Besides," she added sagely, "Dumbledore's Army should know the truth about how he died."

Draco had to admit, Luna was right on both counts: He would have an easier time undermining the Carrows behind the scenes if someone other than Luna knew his true allegiance, and the D.A. members did deserve to know that the Headmaster they all adored hadn't been defeated after all. Despite his misgivings – Draco still tended to secretiveness, a trait he didn't suppose he would ever really lose – he conceded to Luna's plan.

Appearing satisfied to have won the point, Luna surprised Draco by saying lightly, "I need to ask you something."

Draco stiffened, expecting the worst: Surely this was it. Surely the accusations would come now. He forced himself to remain silent, knowing it was no less than he deserved.

"Why didn't you tell any of this to Harry before Dumbledore died?"

To Draco's relief, Luna's voice carried no judgment, no accusation. She simply sounded curious.

He selected his words carefully, wanting to be honest but not entirely sure how to explain the conclusions he'd drawn about the Headmaster's motives over the past two months.

"Dumbledore didn't want Potter to know he was dying. I'm not certain why," Draco was quick to admit. "But I've thought about it a lot, and I think maybe there are things Potter needs to work out for himself before he faces Voldemort. And if he'd known his hero wouldn't be around much longer, he might've asked him questions that Dumbledore really wanted him to figure out on his own."

Luna accepted that. "You could tell Harry now, though," she pointed out. "You could tell him what Dumbledore asked you to do, and why."

"Someday I hope to get that chance," Draco answered truthfully. "But there's no way for me to contact Potter now. Not safely, at least. The whole Ministry will be on the hunt for him, with Voldemort in charge. He'll have to hide, and he'll have to stay hidden until he's ready to fight."

"Do you think he got away today?" Luna worried, sitting up and frowning, as if she had only now realized how much danger Potter was in with the Ministry in Voldemort's hands. "And Ron and Hermione, too?"

Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sure of it, love. If Voldemort had Potter, I'd know." He lifted his left forearm, reminding her that the Dark Lord had a way to contact his followers on momentous occasions – and if Potter had been captured, Draco was sure Voldemort would have summoned his companions to watch the Chosen One die.

Relieved by that, Luna stretched, reluctantly reaching for her dress and pulling it on. "I wish I could stay, but Dad's going to be worried sick," she told him. "I have to get home."

"I know." Draco sat up, too, lightly kissing her shoulder. "Just one more thing."

From the pocket of his robe, Draco produced a small, golden hourglass hanging from a long chain. Luna gasped as she recognized the Time Turner they had stolen from McGonagall's office nearly a year ago.

"We never put it back," she marveled, as Draco dropped the Time Turner into her palm. "I forgot all about it!"  
"I didn't," Draco confessed softly. Luna glanced up at him, hearing the undercurrent of sadness in his voice. "There've been times this summer when I've had to fight myself not to use it."

Luna gazed solemnly at him. "You could," she reasoned, holding the Time Turner out to him. "You could go back. Save your parents. Or tell Harry – "

Draco placed a finger over Luna's lips, silencing her. "Don't tempt me," he admonished gently. "Believe me, I've thought about it a hundred times, how differently I could do things, knowing what I know now. But you were right," he finished. "The day we stole this from McGonagall's office, you tried to warn me what could happen, remember?"

Slowly, Luna nodded. "Terrible things happen to wizards that meddle with time," she whispered, repeating the cautionary words they had all heard from their professors whenever the sticky issue of time travel came up in class.

Draco watched Luna weighing what he'd said, gradually reaching the same conclusion he, against his own selfish desires, finally had. They had changed the course of fate that day, by going back in time for Draco to fight Greyback. In his heart, Draco knew this story had a very different ending before he'd taken what had at the time seemed like a small step. He hadn't given much thought to the consequences of his actions then; he'd been too focused on surviving, on finding a way inside Potter's inner circle. Even now, he couldn't say if he and Luna had made a better or worse future than what might have been.

Would Lucius and Narcissa still be alive? Would Pansy? Would Dumbledore? Or would Voldemort have found a way to seize the Elder Wand? Would Potter have no hope of victory at all?

Would Draco and Luna have ever fallen in love? Would he have really, truly murdered Dumbledore, or helped the Dark Lord to infiltrate Hogwarts so some other Death Eater could? Would Greyback still be terrorizing innocent victims?

Those were questions Draco couldn't answer. Yet because of them, he had vowed never again to meddle with time. It was, simply, too much power for one person to wield.

Luna regarded him curiously. "Why give it to me, then? Why not put it back where it belongs?"

"Because," Draco kissed the end of her nose lightly, eliciting a giggle, "you're wiser than I am. I trust you to decide how to use it – or whether to give it back.

"And now," Draco declared, reaching for his own scattered clothes, "I think I'd best have a word with your dad."

"Luna!"

Luna suffered a wave of guilt that almost (but not quite) took the glow out of her giddy happiness when she saw the relief on her dad's face as she walked into the cluttered living room. Xenophilius rushed forward from the fireplace, where he'd been helplessly wringing his hands, and clasped her in a tight hug.

"I thought – oh my dear, I was so afraid…" Xenophilius pushed her back to arm's length, examining her from head to toe. He brushed leaves and grass out of her tangled curls. "Are you all right? Where have you been? Arthur was sure he saw a Death Eater – "

Xenophilius broke off as said Death Eater, in the form of Draco Malfoy, sauntered into his living room.

Luna placed a restraining hand on her dad's arm, seeing him immediately reach for his wand. "Dad, this is Draco Malfoy," she explained brightly. She rather wished Draco had brought along a change of clothes; he looked sinister in his Death Eater robe, even with his blonde hair mussed from their afternoon's love-making. "He's my boyfriend."

"Your what?" Xenophilius choked. "But he's…?"

"A Death Eater?" Draco supplied. Luna was pleased that his usual condescending sneer was nowhere to be seen; Draco regarded her father with genuine respect. He even looked a bit humble as he offered, "If you'll allow me, Mr. Lovegood, I'd like to explain who I really am."

Luna made tea and passed around a plate of biscuits while Draco, seated across the small kitchen table from her dad, quickly recounted the high points of the past year's adventures. She watched her dad's expression change from incredulity to amazement as Draco told about fighting Greyback, befriending Harry, and agreeing to kill Dumbledore, who was already dying, in order to become a spy inside You-Know-Who's ranks.

He didn't mention the Deathly Hallows. Luna thought that was wise. Her dad was all but obsessed with the Hallows; she wasn't sure he could have kept his curiosity in check if Draco had confessed to wearing the Resurrection Stone around his neck.

Luna was touched that Draco had come here with her, to tell his story to her dad. She knew it couldn't be easy for him. He was used to protecting secrets, not divulging them – especially not to a newspaperman, of all people. But she also knew Draco well enough to suspect he wasn't here simply out of the goodness of his heart. While she bustled around the kitchen playing hostess, she was waiting for the real reason behind his visit to become clear.

And, before long, it did.

"Great man, Albus Dumbledore," Xenophilius mused, when Draco leaned back, his tale finished. "Always did things his way, and I reckon there's those as think he didn't always do things right, but we must remember we're at war. Hard to be transparent when you don't know who you can trust, I always say."

The clock on the wall chimed nine. Luna saw Draco frown toward it and felt a tug in the area of her heart. He would be leaving soon, and it would be a whole month before she would see him again.

She sank into the chair beside him. Draco took her hand underneath the table, squeezing her fingers. Luna tried not to gaze too sappily at him, for her dad's sake; Xenophilius hadn't pressed too hard about why they had needed several hours to make it from the Weasleys' yard the few miles back to the house, and Luna didn't want to give him any more reason than he already had to guess what they'd been up to out in the forest. Some things a dad just didn't need to know.

"Sir, you can't print a word of what I've said," Draco began.

Xenophilius waved off the concern. "Of course, of course. Off the record, absolutely."

"What I mean is, you've got to stop printing anything about the Dark Lord," Draco persisted. Xenophilius' eyebrows drew together in a puzzled line. "There's a reason I grabbed Luna this afternoon: She was on a list of targets for the Death Eaters to kidnap."

Luna's blood chilled in her veins. The deliciously happy buzz she'd been enjoying in her head since kissing Draco in the clearing stuttered and died away.

Her dad blanched, equally terrified. "I – but – why?" he spluttered.

Draco arched an eyebrow, bemused. "Your magazine, sir," he replied, as if that should have been obvious. "_The Quibbler _has gained far too much attention these last months as the only paper that's willing to print the real truth of what's happening now that Voldemort," Xenophilius winced at Draco's casual use of You-Know-Who's name, "is back. The Death Eaters wanted Luna so they could control you."

"I-I never thought of it that way," Xenophilius confessed, his wide eyes moving between Luna and Draco. "What should we do? Should we…hide?"

"I can keep Luna safe at school," Draco promised. "_If _you stop printing stories about Voldemort, that is."

Luna cleared her throat. She was scared, too, but she believed in her father's mission. Someone had to tell people what was really going on, and if _The Daily Prophet _wasn't going to, well, that left _The Quibbler. _She said as much, and even though her dad immediately argued that he couldn't put her in danger, she could tell he was proud of her for saying it.

"There might be another way," Draco reflected thoughtfully. Luna could tell he was considering whether he should say more; she gave him her best pleading look, and to her pleasant surprise, he swiftly melted.

Luna really enjoyed being "the girlfriend." She was always discovering new things she loved about being in love, like finding out that she could get her way with nothing more than a look.

"There's some talk about friends of Potter's starting a rogue wireless program to report what _The Prophet _won't," Draco continued. "The Death Eaters don't know much about it, luckily, but from what I've heard, I think Fred and George Weasley are probably behind it."

"A wireless program?" Xenophilius looked doubtful. "That's hardly upstanding journalism, my boy. No, a newspaper is what you need – "

"Dad," Luna broke in lightly, "maybe it might be a good time to branch out. You always say _The Quibbler _isn't afraid to take risks, right?"

Beaming at her, Xenophilius nodded. "Right you are, my dear, as usual. So you think I ought to help these young men with their program?" he asked of Draco.

"I can pass information on to Luna, she could get it to you, and you could pass it on to Fred and George. But that's on the condition you don't print anything in _The Quibbler _except Heliopaths and Nargles," Draco added firmly.

To Luna's relief, Xenophilius readily agreed to that condition. "Who knows?" he wondered, shaking Draco's hand as Luna's boyfriend stood to leave. "Maybe you'll decide to become a reporter one day. Fine work, journalism."

Luna grinned. It was just like her kind, honest dad to be thinking of normal things like what Draco would do after he graduated when they were in the middle of a war.

She walked Draco out into the yard. The moon had risen; in its glow, Draco's hair shimmered like silver, reminding her sharply of his panther-form.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" she asked, smiling dreamily into his eyes.

Draco kissed her sweetly on the lips, leaving her weak-kneed. "I promise. I'll see you when school starts."

"And you'll miss me?" Luna tried out a coy grin, to great effect: Draco's eyes turned smoky-blue, and he leaned in for another, longer kiss.

"Every second," he vowed. "I love you."

"I love you back."

Luna stepped away, waving as Draco turned on the spot and Disapparated. She stood there a long while after he was gone, her eyes closed, replaying the wonderful afternoon they'd spent together and looking to the school year ahead with such hopefulness she thought her heart might burst.


	29. Chapter 29

_**A/N**_: As this story is AU, I'm taking some liberties here with how the battle develops, but I've tried to stay true to the main themes without doing much rehash of _DH_.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Battle of Hogwarts

Draco rapped his knuckles lightly on the edge of the doorway leading into the Owlery, announcing his presence to the pretty red-headed girl standing near the windows, gazing sadly out into the warm spring night. Ginny Weasley turned toward him, startled.

"It's just me," Draco assured her.

Ginny's lips curved up in a dry smile. A greenish-yellow bruise discolored her right cheekbone, giving her a decidedly devilish look. "You give the Inquisitorial Squad the night off, Head Boy?"

Draco crossed to stand beside Ginny and tilted her chin up so he could inspect the bruise. "You should've had the nurse look at that."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'll live."

Draco shrugged, attempting nonchalance to hide his concern. He knew how Ginny hated to be fussed over.

"That was an impressive Bat-Bogey Hex you cast on Goyle, by the way," he commented mildly. "I've been meaning to thank you for not using it on me."

"I thought about it," Ginny retorted with a mischievous wink, "but I know how protective Luna is. She can be kind of scary when she's mad."

Despite their light banter, Draco was truly worried about Ginny, whom he'd come to think of as something of a kid sister during the last nine months. All year long, he'd watched her grow thinner and paler, watched her easy sense of humor transform into razor-sharp cynicism, watched her become, in short, a harder, tougher person than she should have needed to be at sixteen.

Life at Hogwarts was difficult for all of Draco's old friends in the D.A. now, with Snape as Headmaster turning a blind eye to the abuses doled out by the Carrows and Draco's Slytherin Housemates. One of Snape's first acts as Headmaster had been to replace the House Prefects with the Inquisitorial Squad, a hand-picked group of Slytherin bullies commanded by Draco as Head Boy and his Slytherin Housemate Millicent Bulstrode as Head Girl. (Honestly, Draco thought Millicent would have made a better Head Boy, as she was taller, beefier, and much, much meaner than he was). As the ostensible leader of the Slytherins, Draco had to publicly approve of the harsh new regime; privately, he had worked behind the scenes all year with Luna, Ginny, Longbottom, and the other D.A. members to keep anyone from being seriously hurt.

But the situation had spiraled out of control anyway, because there was only so much one seventh-year wizard could do against a campaign of brutality as immense as the Carrows' and the Slytherins'. No matter how hard Draco tried to keep his friends safe, he couldn't entirely prevent the frequent skirmishes that broke out in the hallways or on the grounds.

The latest of which, just outside the girls' bathroom on the second floor, had started when Goyle decided it would be smashing good fun to Levitate a second-year Gryffindor around the hallway, while the little girl, hanging upside down by her ankles, had tried desperately to keep her skirt from flying over her head. Ginny, as luck would have it, had happened to be nearby, and she'd hexed Goyle before Millicent rounded the corner.

Ginny was a fierce scrapper, Draco had to give her that, but Millicent outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. Hence, the ugly bruise on Ginny's cheek.

In fact, things had gotten so bad that some of the D.A. members were now in hiding. Just before Christmas, Draco had suggested to Longbottom that they set up the Room of Requirement as a permanent hideout for those students Draco couldn't adequately protect. The first inhabitant of their makeshift shelter had been Seamus Finnigan. Shortly before the winter recess, Seamus had finally lost his temper and covered Alecto Carrow in painful boils with the Furnunculus jinx after she'd struck Susan Bones across the face for suggesting that the Unforgivable Curses should remain illegal. For the insult to his sister, Amycus had threatened to hang Seamus by his thumbs in the dungeon; Draco had known the big, brutal man meant it, too, even though Seamus insisted he wasn't scared. With Longbottom's help, Draco had managed to spirit the fiery Irishman off to the Room of Requirement before Amycus could find him, and that was where Seamus had remained, joined throughout the spring term by a handful of other D.A. members (including Longbottom, whose penchant for heroics rivaled Potter's).

Ginny refused to hide, though she was typically bruised from one run-in or another with the Inquisitorial Squad. Unlike Luna, who (to Draco's immense relief) kept a low profile, Ginny refused to play nicely with the Carrows or the Slytherins. Draco had actually tracked Weasley's little sister down that evening in the hopes of talking some sense into her. If she could just hold her temper in check a few more weeks, the school year would end, and she could fume about Snape, the Carrows, and the Inquisitorial Squad from the safety of the Burrow.

Unfortunately, Draco could see from the stubborn gleam in Ginny's eye that he was wasting his time. "I know what you're going to say," she preempted him. "You're going to say I'm not helping anything by making trouble."

"I don't think you're making trouble," Draco corrected her. He continued to cup her chin gently in his hand, fixing her with a stern, brotherly look. "But you might try walking away once in a while."

"I won't." Ginny's eyes flashed with sudden anger – not at Draco, at the situation. "I won't sit back and let those bullies say and do whatever they want. It's bad enough I'm stuck here at all, while Harry and Hermione and even Ron are off fighting You-Know-Who…"

Draco sighed. Releasing Ginny, he turned to stare out the window, searching the darkness as if it might hold a clue to Potter's whereabouts. He understood Ginny's frustration at remaining behind, attending classes and doing homework and preparing for exams like everything was perfectly normal, while the Chosen One was out there somewhere, fighting for his life – and theirs.

Draco knew much more about Potter's mission now than he had even in August when he and the other Death Eaters had crashed Bill and Fleur's wedding. All year, Draco had been meeting privately with Snape in the Headmaster's office. No one at Hogwarts found it odd for Draco, who had been all but adopted by the Dark Lord, to be shown such favoritism by Voldemort's chief commander at Hogwarts, but what they didn't know – what Draco hadn't told the members of the D.A., not even Luna – was that Snape had used those meetings to show Draco everything he and Dumbledore together had learned about how to destroy the Dark Lord.

Thanks to the memories Dumbledore, the other Order of the Phoenix members, and even Potter had collected over the years, Draco now knew what a Horcrux was, and he knew Potter was systematically hunting down and destroying those Voldemort had created. Tom Riddle's diary had been the first to go, the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened; Cadmus Peverell's ring had been destroyed before the beginning of Draco's sixth year, releasing the curse that would eventually have killed Dumbledore. Since Potter, Weasley and Hermione had gone off on their quest, Draco and Snape were aware of two Horcurxes they had destroyed: Slytherin's locket, with Snape's help (though the trio didn't know the Headmaster was behind Gryffindor's sword appearing in the woods), and, according to a missive Snape had received from Voldemort that very evening, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, following a truly spectacular break-in at a Gringotts vault belonging to Draco's aunt Bella.

If Dumbledore's theory, which Snape had shared with Draco, was correct, that left three Horcruxes to dispose of: one would likely be related to Hogwarts' other founder, Rowena Ravenclaw; one was the great snake Nagini; and one, though the Chosen One didn't know it yet, was Potter himself.

That was why Draco hadn't told anyone what Snape had revealed to him in their meetings. It was cruel enough that the Prophecy meant Potter had to die for Voldemort to be defeated. Draco saw no need for the people who cared about Potter to suffer under the weight of that knowledge, as Draco had since the fall.

So he didn't argue with Ginny, didn't tell her she should be glad she was here, in relative safety, because he knew how empty those words would be. Instead, he said, "Just try and stay in one piece until the end of the year, all right?"

Ginny punched his arm. "You worry too much. You're worse than my brothers."

Draco smiled at that. It had taken a lot of convincing to persuade Ginny he wasn't really on Voldemort's side – actually, when Luna had brought Draco to the first D.A. meeting of the year, he'd had to duck Ginny's Stunning spell before he could even get a word in edgewise. But as time had passed, he'd gradually earned back her trust along with everyone else's.

Now, he kind of liked that Ginny thought of him as family.

Pointedly closing the subject of the need for her to control her temper, Ginny asked, "So what's the news? Has Snape said anything more about what You-Know-Who's doing to find Harry?"

Draco heard the concern running beneath her light tone. Much as he hated to give Ginny more reason to worry, he wasn't going to lie to her. "Voldemort's got Death Eaters in Hogsmeade," he said, revealing information he'd just learned in Snape's office less than an hour ago. "He's convinced Potter means to come back here, to Hogwarts."

Draco didn't add that the Dark Lord was now aware of what Potter was hunting, and that he believed Potter's quest would soon lead him back to the school, where Voldemort had hidden one of his last remaining Horcruxes, an item of some significance to Ravenclaw House. Neither Snape nor Draco had any idea what that item might be or where Voldemort might have hidden it, but Snape was worried. Voldemort was more determined than ever to find and kill Potter. So long as Potter remained on the run, the chances of that happening were slim, yet it would be just like Potter to convince himself that he had no choice but to come back to Hogwarts and seek out the Horcrux, regardless of his own safety.

For a moment, Ginny's eyes lit up at the idea that she might soon see Potter again. In the next second, her face fell as she realized how much danger the Chosen One would be in if he returned.

She pressed Draco, "Will you put the word out? Try to warn Harry that You-Know-Who is watching the castle?"

"My next stop is to see Luna," Draco assured her.

One of the bright spots in Draco's life that year had been acting as a spy for Luna's dad. As Draco had predicted at the end of the summer, the Weasley twins had helped their friend Lee Jordan set up a rogue wireless program, "Potterwatch," to report the news _The Prophet _(which was controlled by the Ministry now, and therefore by Voldemort) wouldn't. Xenophilius had taken Draco's warning to heart: _The Quibbler _had gone back to printing its usual prattle about Nargles and Wrackspurts, while Xenophilius took whatever information Draco passed to Luna, tapped his own secret sources, and secretly forwarded the real news to Jordan.

Draco was finding it was more than the simple act of rebellion he enjoyed about working for _The Quibbler. _He rather liked being an undercover reporter, seizing on a piece of important news and seeing to it that the truth wasn't hidden from the world by those in power.

Of course there was no guarantee Potter would hear the warning, as they had no way of knowing if he had access to a radio. Potter, Weasley, and Hermione would surely have to go into even deeper hiding now, after the break-in at Gringotts, since they would no doubt realize that Voldemort would be onto their Horcrux hunt after that little escapade.

And even if Draco helped get word to Potter that Hogwarts was under surveillance, would it matter? Would Potter stay away, or try to break through, to finish his mission before their world descended any deeper into chaos?

Ginny seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she declared in a way that sounded like she was trying to convince herself, "Harry wouldn't come back here anyway. I mean, he left to protect us all, didn't he?"

Feeling a bit awkward – he liked Potter well enough, but Draco felt too brotherly toward Ginny to be comfortable discussing her love life – Draco offered hesitantly, "Potter didn't _want _to leave, you know. I talked to him at the end of last year, and it was a really hard decision for him."

Ginny colored. After a slight pause, she blurted out, "I guess, but…I mean, what did he have to stick around for?"

"You?" Draco suggested.

Ginny shook her head. "I never…We never really got around to talking about that."

Draco wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to comfort Ginny. On the other, if Snape was right about Potter being doomed, maybe it was better if Potter remained nothing more than a "might have been" in Ginny's life. Draco couldn't imagine losing Luna, now that she had been his for the better part of two years.

As if following his thoughts, Ginny, standing side-by-side with him at the window, elbowed Draco in the ribs. "So how about you and Luna?" she inquired teasingly, purposefully lightening the mood. "You two find any time to be alone these days?"

Had he not been by that point a master at concealing his true emotions, Draco would have blushed. His mind immediately turned to the few precious, lovely hours he and Luna had stolen together over the course of the year – in the Room of Requirement, in the fall before it became a D.A. refugee camp, and this spring in the empty dungeon classroom where he'd once learned Occlumency. Draco had thought the afternoon they'd spent in the clearing behind her dad's house had been magical, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of feeling; since then, he and Luna had shared several magic moments. He carried those memories around inside like a warm flame beneath his heart.

As it was, his sly grin told Ginny all she needed to know. She giggled.

Just then, a sharp, burning pain shot through Draco's left forearm. He gasped, his spine going rigid, his sapphire eyes turning icy and remote.

Ginny stared at him, shocked by the abrupt change in his demeanor. "What - ?"

"Voldemort. He's summong the Death Eaters," Draco explained tersely. Pushing the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow, he displayed his Dark Mark for her: The snake's head seemed to be writhing, the ink deepening from gray to coal-black before their eyes.

Ginny shuddered. "It isn't – you don't think – Harry…?"

Draco couldn't deny that was exactly what he was thinking. He couldn't imagine any other reason the Dark Lord would call his faithful followers together at once.

"Get to the Room of Requirement," he commanded, his tone confirming Ginny's worst fears. "Find Luna and take her with you. Tell Longbottom I'll meet you all there as soon as I can."

"Where are you going?" Ginny demanded. Obviously frightened, she nevertheless appeared worried that Draco might be heading off to fight – and she did not want to be left out.

"I can't Apparate out of Hogwarts, not even to answer Voldemort's call," Draco reminded her. "I've got to get to Snape, see if he knows what's happening. I promise not to leave the castle without sending word to you," he added.

He wasn't certain he could keep that promise, but the last thing he needed was Ginny Weasley dogging his steps, desperate for information about Potter, her brother, and Hermione.

Reluctantly, Ginny nodded. Draco squeezed her shoulder quickly, trying to infuse his touch with some comfort, before hurrying off to find out what sort of trouble the Chosen One had landed himself in this time.

It was the second of May. Draco didn't know it then, but the trio was even then following Neville through the tunnel leading from the Hog's Head Inn, where Dumbledore's brother Aberforth had concealed them from the Death Eaters, to the Room of Requirement. And Voldemort was winging through the night sky, bringing his army to the castle where he would, for the final time, face the Chosen One.

The Battle of Hogwarts was about to begin.

Luna, of course, was delighted to see Harry, Ron and Hermione, and even happier to be able to help Harry by getting him into the Ravenclaw dormitory to study Rowena Ravenclaw's statue, though she had to admit the arrival of You-Know-Who demanding Harry's immediate surrender somewhat dampened the pleasure of their homecoming.

She had been leaving the library when Ginny had raced up to her, breathless, and reported that Draco's Dark Mark was burning, the signal for the Death Eaters to gather. Draco had gone to look for Snape; Ginny was rousing the D.A. Luna had headed straight for the Room of Requirement to tell Neville what was happening while Ginny had run off to find reinforcements.

As it turned out, Luna's announcement had been unnecessary. When she'd reached the Room of Requirement, Harry, Ron, and Hermione – tired and dirty from their adventures – had just been emerging from the tunnel to the Hog's Head Inn, accompanied by Neville, who was bursting with excitement that the fight he and the other D.A. members had been spoiling for all year was finally about to begin.

Now, with the castle under siege by You-Know-Who's forces, Harry and Luna were hurrying back toward the Room of Requirement, where he was supposed to meet up with Hermione and Ron. Luna was still feeling quite pleased with herself for taking out that horrid little pig of a woman Alecto Carrow; even though her brother had signaled You-Know-Who that Harry was here anyway, Luna liked to think her intervention had given Harry the time he'd needed to talk to the Ravenclaw ghost.

After Luna had Stunned Alecto, Amycus and Professor McGonagall had arrived. Harry had slipped back under his Invisibility Cloak, out of sight of the Ravenclaw students who had hurried down from their dormitories to see what all the noise was about – until Amycus, after McGonagall had called him a coward for wanting to blame the Ravenclaws for mistakenly summoning You-Know-Who, had spat at the Head of Gryffindor House. Luna thought it was very dashing for Harry to have stood up for McGonagall the way he had, throwing off his Cloak and sending the brutal-faced Amycus flying into a wall with the Cruciatus Curse.

Before Harry could explain to McGonagall (and, by extension, to Luna) what he was looking for that had brought him back to Hogwarts, You-Know-Who had arrived, announcing to the school that he would give them until midnight to turn Harry over. While McGonagall and the other Heads of Houses had rushed off to mount the school's defenses, Luna had stayed behind with Harry, who, quite inexplicably, had told her they needed to find the Grey Lady.

Luckily, that hadn't been a problem, as the Hogwarts ghosts had all been flying through the crowded corridors, as excited as the students by the unexpected mayhem. Luna had pointed the Ravenclaw ghost out to Harry in the foyer near the Great Hall.

She didn't know what the Grey Lady had said to him, but whatever it was, it must have been important, because Harry now seemed to have a plan of action. His sense of purpose made Luna feel safe despite the chaos erupting around them.

Students were rushing through the halls, some clearly terrified, others overjoyed that, at last, they were able to fight. From Colin Creevey – after he'd stopped jumping up and down with excitement at seeing Harry again – they learned that Nurse Pomfrey and Mr. Filch were evacuating the underage students and anyone who didn't want to fight. That encompassed most of Slytherin House, with one notable exception: Luna had spotted Johanna Evanston, her elfish face set in a grim mask, making her way determinedly toward the Great Hall, a lone Slytherin in a sea of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors heading for where Professor McGonagall was assembling the Hogwarts defenders.

Luna didn't blame Johanna for wanting revenge. She herself still had nightmares about the night Pansy died.

"You should leave, Colin," Harry protested, when Colin declared his intention to join the defenders. "You're underage – "

"I'm part of the D.A.!" Colin looked offended at the idea of abandoning his friends now that battle was upon them. "I'm with you, Harry. It's what you trained us for!"

"Just be careful," Harry admonished him, though Luna could tell Harry was impressed by the younger boy's bravery.

Hurrying along through the crowded hallways, Luna tried to find an opening to tell Harry about Draco, to let him know that his old enemy actually hadn't betrayed him. With everything happening so fast, she couldn't think how to begin. She knew Harry wasn't going to believe her straightaway. If they could have just had some time, a few quiet moments together, like that day at the lake when she'd persuaded him to hear Draco out in the first place…

An explosion outside suddenly rocked the castle. The battle had begun.

Deciding that it was now or never, Luna opened her mouth to tell Harry that he needed to hear her out, to understand that Draco really was on their side – just as they rounded a corner to find Ron and Hermione, clutching what looked like a sack filled with Basilisk fangs, talking to Ginny.

Ginny's eyes met Harry's, and from the looks on their faces, Luna knew exactly what they were experiencing: The sounds of war erupting outside, the shrieks and shouts and thuds and bangs, were fading into the background, the world receding until no one else existed except the two of them.

Luna knew how it felt. It was exactly what she'd experienced the day of Bill and Fleur's wedding, when she'd been reunited with Draco after two months of not knowing where he was or if he was all right.

Harry, it appeared, had finally made his choice.

Ginny walked purposefully toward him, silently holding out her arms, and Harry strode forward to meet her. Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder; Harry gathered her close, resting his cheek against her silky red hair.

They stood there for a long moment, holding one another. When Ginny pulled back slightly, Harry, without a moment's hesitation, leaned down and kissed her.

Luna saw Ron look up at the ceiling, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, as if he'd always known it was only a matter of time before his best friend and his little sister got together. Luna glanced at Hermione, afraid of the pain she might see there, but Hermione's pretty face never wavered from a perfectly neutral expression. Aside from the fact that she was holding her shoulders stiffly, her spine abnormally straight, she looked for all the world as if she was completely happy for her friends.

As Luna watched, Hermione cast a sideways glance at Ron, who caught her eye. They both blushed and looked quickly away.

Maybe in time, Luna reflected, Hermione and Ron would find their way together, and then Hermione could be truly content with Harry's choice. Maybe she would never stop loving him (and Luna was fairly certain Hermione had fallen in love with Harry), but maybe she had never stopped loving Ron, either. Maybe they would all find happiness, and be able to be friends again without the awkwardness.

Assuming any of them lived beyond tonight, of course.

"Everybody's gathering in the Great Hall," Ginny informed Harry and Luna, finally breaking the kiss after Peeves swooped by overhead, making retching noises. "The teachers are all down there. All but Snape," she corrected, grinning with satisfaction. "The Heads of Houses saw him right off. He was no match for McGonagall – she sent him flying straight out the window like the old bat he is."

Harry perked up. "You mean he fell?"

"No," Ginny corrected. "He _flew._"

Harry looked disappointed that Snape had managed to survive. "Just another trick he picked up from his master," he commented darkly.

Luna held her tongue, though she suspected Snape being forced to flee the castle was not good news. Draco had never bothered trying to convince the others Snape was really, truly on their side – that would have been almost impossible given how foul the new Headmaster's regime had been. Luna understood why Ginny and Harry were glad to be shut of their old Potions professor, even as she regretted that Snape might never get a chance to tell Harry his side of the story.

"Do we know where we're going, Harry?" Hermione asked, as she and Ron hurried over to join them.

Ginny frowned. "What do you mean, where you're going? The fight's downstairs, isn't it?"

Harry looked torn. Clearly, he wanted to join in the battle, yet he had also come back to Hogwarts for a purpose – one that didn't involve facing You-Know-Who quite yet.

"There's something I have to do," he decided reluctantly, sounding so much like Draco before Dumbledore's death that Luna immediately stiffened, sensing a desperate, possibly doomed-to-fail mission in the works. "It's why I came back. It may be the only way to stop Voldemort."

Instead of arguing with him, Ginny squared her shoulders. "You go see to that, then. The rest of us can hold them off."

"You can't go out there!" Ron cried. "You're underage. Mum said – "

"Mum isn't here," Ginny retorted.

"She will be any minute," Ron warned, adding quickly to Harry and Luna, "Neville's using the passage to Hogsmeade to bring the Order of the Phoenix through. Fred and George just got here a minute ago, and I saw Dad running off with Lupin and Tonks. Kingsley's here somewhere, too."

Luna thought that was the best news she'd heard all night.

"I'd better go before Mum gets here and stops me." Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek.

Harry caught her hand. "Ginny, maybe you shouldn't – "

"I'm fighting." Ginny's tone brooked no argument, though she softened her tone with a sweet smile. "Be safe, Harry."

"You too," he said, looking like he wanted to say more but couldn't with Ron, Hermione and Luna standing there.

Luna followed Ginny a short distance down the hall, out of earshot of the others, who started whispering together. "Have you seen Draco?" she asked quietly.

Ginny shook her head. "Haven't you?" Luna admitted she hadn't. Ginny frowned, clearly worried. "He went to look for Snape, but that's been almost an hour ago. Have you told Harry the truth yet? About Draco and Dumbledore, I mean?"

"No. Things have been a little crazy."

"You'd better stay with him, then," Ginny advised, glancing at where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood together. "If he sees Draco before you can explain…"

Ginny didn't have to finish that thought. Luna knew all too well what Harry was likely to do to Dumbledore's killer, given the opportunity.

The girls embraced. "Good luck," they said at the same time, and shared a grin.

With one last, longing glance at Harry, Ginny ran off to join the fight below, while Luna turned and followed the trio up the stairs to the Room of Hidden Things.

"You're sure this diadem thing is here, mate?"

Draco could almost hear Hermione gritting her teeth as she called out, "Yes, Ronald, Harry is sure. Just keeping looking. It has to be here somewhere – "

Turning a corner near the Vanishing Cabinet, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as she came face-to-face with Draco.

He waited for her to Curse him. His wand remained in the pocket of his robes; he figured he deserved whatever jinx Hermione used against him.

To his surprise, Hermione, still heart-achingly beautiful despite looking ragged and weary, just stared at him, without making any move to attack. As the silence stretched on, Draco cast about for something witty to say, but all that came out was, "Good to see you, Granger."

Hermione made a small sound that might have been a strangled sob and took a step forward, preparing to launch herself into Draco's arms. But before she could, Potter stepped around a stack of broken chairs and spotted Draco.

The Chosen One raised his wand with murder in his green eyes.

"_Protego_!"

Hermione's spell instantly created a Shield between Potter and his target. Potter gaped at her, his mouth falling open in astonishment.

"Hermione," he stammered, "I – what – it's Malfoy! We have to – "

"You need to hear him out, Harry." Hermione made no move to lower her Shield. Her jaw was set in a familiar stubborn line; Draco realized suddenly how much he had missed that bossy, know-it-all tone. "We owe him a chance to explain himself."

"Owe him?" Potter burst out. His hands were shaking with rage. "Explain himself? He killed Dumbledore! What can he possibly have to explain?"

"Hermione's right, mate."

It was Draco's turn to stare, dumbfounded, as Weasley stepped up beside Hermione, making no move to go for his own wand.

"Ron? You're defending Malfoy?" Potter shook his head, like he was trying to wake himself up from a really odd dream. "Have you two been Imperiused?"

Draco was wondering the same thing – until he remembered the last time he had seen Weasley and Hermione: in the Forbidden Forest, the night he'd killed Greyback, the night Pansy Parkinson had died.

Draco had always assumed Weasley and Hermione believed the worst of him, just like Potter, yet he hadn't considered that, unlike Potter, they had seen him risk his life to save Luna (very nearly dying in the process), had witnessed his unadorned grief at losing Pansy, had seen his shock and confusion when the Dark Mark appeared over Hogwarts.

All this time, he'd been imagining that they hated him. Draco was caught off-guard by how much it mattered to know that, deep down, Weasley and Hermione had held out hope for him to be proven loyal in the end. That they were willing to hear him out now, when Potter was ready to dismiss him as a traitor and be done with it, reminded Draco that not everyone saw the world in black-and-white.

He was still shocked that Weasley would show him such generosity, though. Maybe he hadn't been entirely fair to Ginny's older brother, Draco reflected, with a small pang of guilt.

_Don't get carried away. He's still Weasley._

Potter jumped when Luna, serene as ever, appeared beside him and placed a gentle hand on his wrist. Slowly, she pushed Potter's arm down until his wand was pointed at the floor instead of at Draco.

"You should hear what Draco has to say, Harry," she offered lightly, staring meaningfully into Potter's eyes. "Then you can decide for yourself whether to trust him."

Draco sensed some private memory passing between them, as if Luna had made this argument once before. He supposed she probably had – when she'd asked Potter to hear him out in the first place, during their sixth year.

Whatever the explanation, Luna's words worked. After a pause, Potter nodded. Turning to Draco, he said coolly, "I'm listening."

Hermione let her Shield charm dissolve.

As quickly as he could, Draco relayed what Dumbledore had asked him to do. He kept his gaze locked on Potter's the entire time, determined that the Chosen One should read the truth there, as he told him that Dumbledore had already been dying thanks to the Curse on Peverell's ring; that he had asked Draco to carry out his mission so he could become a spy in Voldemort's ranks; that he had bequeathed the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand to Draco, to keep them safe from Voldemort's clutches.

"I know what you're doing here," Draco concluded. "I know about the Horcruxes. I can help you."

Potter, plainly wavering between accepting the offer and Cursing his old enemy, finally sighed. "Ravenclaw's Diadem," he declared simply. "That's the Horcrux. I know it's in here, somewhere, because I saw it last year when we were using the Vanishing Cabinet. I just didn't know what it was at the time."

"You mean _this_ diadem, Potter?"

Draco whirled with the others to find Zabini sauntering toward them, a beautiful goblin-made tiara resting in the palm of one upturned hand. He smirked, his dark eyes glowing with malice.

Five wands – Potter's, Weasley's, Hermione's, Luna's and Draco's – pointed at Zabini, who clucked his tongue warningly. "You don't want to do that," he cautioned.

"Like hell we don't," Weasley retorted.

Zabini called silkily, "Crabbe, Goyle, show them why they don't want to attack me."

Draco had a sinking feeling he knew what was about to happen. Sure enough, Crabbe and Goyle trudged up behind Zabini, dragging Ginny Weasley between them.

Crabbe had his wand pressed hard against Ginny's throat; Goyle had a death-grip on her upper arm, squeezing hard enough to leave finger-mark bruises.

Draco's eyes narrowed. He'd had just about enough of Blaise Zabini.

"How did you know about the diadem?" Hermione demanded, sounding truly put-out that Zabini had worked out the answer to the Horcrux riddle before she had.

"I saw Amycus Carrow in the hallway a couple of hours ago. He told me you three had come back to Hogwarts looking for something," Zabini returned smugly. "I've got to admit, I figured he was mistaken. I didn't think Potter would have the stomach to crawl out of whatever hole he's been hiding in for the past year."

Weasley tensed at the implication that Potter was a coward. Draco watched Hermione place a restraining hand on Weasley's arm, inclining her head ever-so-slightly toward Potter. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Luna, standing beside the Chosen One, take a small step back, her dreamy smile never faltering even as she shifted to have a clear shot at Zabini over Draco's shoulder.

He smiled to himself. People always underestimated Luna because she seemed so happy and bubbly. No one ever fully appreciated just how dangerous she could be when cornered.

"I decided I'd hang around up here," Zabini went on, motioning to the junk-filled aisles surrounding them, "where pretty much everything that gets lost at Hogwarts ends up. I figured you'd show up sooner or later."

"So you've been in here this whole time?" Weasley demanded, looking murderous.

Zabini smiled triumphantly. "Caught on, have you, Weasley? Yes, I've been here. I'll admit, I didn't know what 'diadem' you were talking about at first, but from your faces, I'd say I managed to pick up the right one."

"That was really clever," Hermione commented. She sounded so genuinely impressed that Zabini took his attention momentarily off of Potter.

Which was clearly what Hermione had wanted. In the next second, Luna lifted her wand and cried, "_Stupefy_!"

Zabini slumped to the floor with a grunt as a jet of red light struck him in the chest. In the blink of an eye, before Crabbe or Goyle could react, he Transfigured into the giant silver panther.

With an ear-splitting roar, the cat leapt straight at Crabbe and Goyle – who screamed, released Ginny, and bolted for the door.

Draco chased them out of the room just for good measure, growling and snarling. They were too frightened to even try to Curse him; at the door, Crabbe nearly shoved Goyle down in his hurry to escape.

When Draco turned back, he found his friends doubled over, laughing so hard tears were streaming down their cheeks.

Weasley gasped, "Did you see their faces? I think Crabbe might've actually pissed himself."

Ginny, clutching her sides, straightened up enough to hold a hand out toward the great cat. "Thanks, Whiskers," she said.

The cat tossed its head. A moment later, Draco stood before them again in his human form, smirking.

"You all right?" Potter asked Ginny, wiping his eyes.

She nodded, grinning slyly at Draco as she assured him, "I'll live."

Potter became solemn again quickly. "Okay, let's get the diadem and get out of here. I want to know what's happening downstairs – "

"Blood traitor!"

Too late, Draco realized they should have been paying more attention to Zabini: Recovering from Luna's spell, he was sitting up, his face full of loathing as he looked from Potter to Draco.

"You're going to regret betraying the Dark Lord, Malfoy," Zabini declared. "And you, Potter, I can finish you, right now."

Before they could stop him, Zabini waved his wand once, shouting a spell that was lost in a sudden roaring, billowing wind that swept through the room.

The hair on the back of Draco's arms stood straight up, almost like a lightning storm had broken out in the Room of Hidden Things. The noise of the strange wind grew louder, rushing down the aisles of stacked junk toward them, bringing with it a powerful gust of hot, dry air.

All of them, even Zabini, stared in mute horror as a wall of flame raced toward them.

The flames, Draco could see, were not just flames. Horrifying shapes – dragons, Chimeras, serpents – danced inside the wall of fire; it was a living, breathing mass of fiery beasts, intent on one thing.

Absolute destruction.

"We have to get out of here!" Hermione shrieked.

Weasley stepped up beside Draco. "_Aguamenti_!" he cried, pointing his wand directly at the flames.

Water shot forward in a huge gush, and for a second, Draco thought they would be saved – until he realized the water was having no affect whatsoever on the fire.

"I don't think that's working," he observed, doing his best to sound calm. "Any other ideas?"

"Get down!" Weasley seized Draco by the front of the robes and jerked him out of the way just as Zabini jumped to his feet and sent a Killing Curse their way. The two of them tumbled sideways into a broken cabinet, smashing it; empty sherry bottles rolled across the floor, crunching underneath them.

Even with the terrifying flames bearing down on them, Draco couldn't resist turning to Weasley and commenting dryly, "You just saved my life."

Weasley grinned. "Don't read into it," he quipped, echoing Draco's words to him during their ill-fated rescue of Ollivander.

"Come on, you two!" Hermione was pleading. Zabini had already headed off in the direction of the door, with Potter, Ginny and Luna in pursuit, since he still had the diadem; Hermione was motioning for Weasley and Draco to follow them.

The heat was searing now. Draco could feel sweat trickling down his back as he helped Weasley to his feet. He chanced a glance at the fire – it had switched directions and seemed to be following Potter now, which was the only reason, Draco realized, he and Weasley hadn't been burnt to a crisp where they'd fallen.

"What is that stuff?" Weasley demanded of Hermione, as they weaved their way as fast as they could through the piles of broken, discarded items, searching for their friends – and the exit. Hermione just shook her head.

"Fiendfyre," Draco muttered, his words lost in the roar of the flames. He couldn't believe Zabini had conjured it. He clearly didn't have the control to master it; the flames were spreading throughout the room, threatening all of them. It was magic on the level of Dumbledore or Voldemort, not a seventh-year student.

Smoke filled the room, searing their throats, blinding them. Draco's heart was pounding. This was _not _how he wanted to meet his end, burned alive by Fiendfyre. Nor was it how he wanted his Luna to meet her end. They had to find a way out – had to get to the door – had to stop Zabini taking the diadem to Voldemort, where it would be beyond the Chosen One's grasp –

Suddenly, just as Draco's knees gave out, his breath coming in short, painful gasps as he choked on the super-heated, smoke-clogged air, a figure on a broomstick swooped toward him. "Give me your hand," Potter shouted to him, reaching out.

Draco managed to reach up and grasp Potter's wrist. He pulled himself up onto the broom, rasping, "Where's Luna?"

"Ginny's got her," Potter assured him. He pushed off the ground and raced toward the door, the fire practically licking their heels. Draco bit down a yelp of fear as a dragon's head appeared in front of them, its fiery tongue shooting straight at them; Potter braked and yanked the Firebolt upwards, nearly throwing Draco off the back. He only managed to hold on by wrapping his arms tightly around Potter's waist.

_If we get out of this alive, _Draco decided, _I'll cast a Langlock jinx on him if he tells anyone about this, I don't care if he is the Chosen One…_

Ahead of them, Draco was relieved to see Ginny and Luna soaring out of the doorway, away from the cursed fire. Ron and Hermione on Ron's Cleansweep were right behind them, Hermione holding on for dear life. Draco sagged with relief. They were going to make it after all, they were so close…

"What are you doing?" he shouted incredulously, tightening his grip on Potter's waist as he suddenly pointed the broom in a nosedive, heading down into the circling flames.

"Zabini!" Potter replied, pointing.

Sure enough, Zabini was curled up beside a busted table, apparently too overcome by the smoke and heat to realize he was only steps away from the door.

"You're going to get us killed!" Draco protested. "Leave him!"

Potter glared at him over the shoulder. "I can't leave him, Malfoy! Now hold on."

Draco closed his eyes as the floor rushed toward them. For once in his life, he was thankful Potter could out-fly him. Had Draco been steering the broom, he knew they would have been splattered on the floorboards, but Potter brought them to a neat stop inches from Zabini.

"Come on," he offered, holding out his hand.

In response, Zabini feebly lifted his wand. "Go to hell, Potter, and take Malfoy with you. _Avada _– "

"_Stupefy_!" Draco's spell cut Zabini's Killing Curse short. The dark-eyed boy slumped over, as the flames behind him rose up, becoming a giant, fork-tongued serpent slithering straight toward them.

"Get the diadem!" Draco shouted to Potter, who hesitated. "Stop being a bloody hero, Potter! You can't save him, it's too late!"

Reluctantly acknowledging the truth of Draco's words, Potter reached out, scooped the diadem up off the floor, and in a smooth, graceful motion that had made him one of the greatest Gryffindor Seekers of all time, shot cleanly through the doorway into the corridor.

Behind them, the Room of Hidden Things sealed itself shut, containing the blaze within.

Coughing, covered in soot and drenched in sweat, Potter and Draco climbed off the Firebolt as Luna, Ginny, Hermione and Weasley ran toward them from the other end of the hall. Luna flung her arms around Draco; he picked her up off the floor, pressing his grimy face into her soft curls.

"That was exciting," Luna remarked, when Draco put her back on her feet. She brushed his sweat-damp hair off his forehead, smiling brightly.

Draco snorted. "That's one word for it." He drew in a deep, steadying breath, willing his racing heart beat to slow. "Absolutely bloody terrifying might be another."

Arm-in-arm, they walked over to Potter, who was holding the half-charred diadem in his hands. The others stood in a loose circle around him.

As they all watched, the delicate tiara simply disintegrated in his hands.

"What the…?" Weasley gaped. He had an angry red blister on his cheek, and he looked as shaken as Draco felt.

Hermione answered, looking grim. "Fiendfyre – cursed fire. It's one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes, but I would never, ever dare use it. It's so dangerous."

"Obviously," Ginny remarked.

As a group, they turned and looked back at the Room of Hidden Things. Draco shuddered. He had sworn, the night Pansy Parkinson died, that he would kill Blaise Zabini one day. But he had to admit, not even Zabini had deserved to meet his end in such a gruesome way.

An explosion rocked the castle then, followed by several high-pitched screams, reminding them all that, though they had survived Zabini's Fiendfyre, a battle was still going on around them. "We have to go help," Ginny insisted, grabbing Potter's arm. "Before those two thugs got hold of me, I heard Neville say McGonagall and Flitwick were taking students up the Astronomy Tower, and Dad and Lupin and Kingsley were leading a group out onto the grounds. If we hurry, we can catch up to them."

Without warning, Potter suddenly staggered forward, clasping his hands to his forehead. Instinctively, Draco reached out and caught him before he could fall to the floor; Potter's body went rigid in his arms, almost like he was having a seizure.

"What's happening?" Draco demanded, looking from Hermione to Weasley.

"It's You-Know-Who," Hermione whispered. She sounded anguished. "Harry can see into his mind. Sometimes it just sort of happens, when You-Know-Who is really mad or upset or…"

"Or really happy," Weasley added ominously.

Draco lowered Potter to the floor, where they all knelt beside him. After a moment, Potter started to come around, his waxy cheeks slowly regaining some color.

For just a second, as Potter opened his eyes, Draco thought he caught a glimpse of the Dark Lord's livid, snake-like scarlet irises staring out from Potter's emerald green gaze. Draco shuddered involuntarily. Here he'd been thinking for seven years that Potter was some kind of do-gooder saint, when all along, he'd had a direct connection to the mind of the most evil wizard of all time.

Draco thought his Dark Mark repulsive, but there was no denying Potter's ability to see into Voldemort's mind was creepy on a whole new level.

"The Shrieking Shack," Potter declared weakly, sitting up. "He's in the Shrieking Shack. The snake's with him – he's got her encased in some kind of magical orb. And he…He's got Dumbledore's wand."

So it had happened at last: Voldemort had come to claim the Elder Wand.

Draco felt cold all over, as if his blood had turned to ice-water. Voldemort must have finally tracked down Gregorovitch, the old Bulgarian wandmaker, and learned the identity of the thief who had stolen the Elder Wand from him all those many years ago: Gellert Grindelwald. As everyone knew, Grindelwald had been defeated by Dumbledore, which meant the Elder Wand was at Hogwarts, encased inside Dumbledore's white tomb.

All Voldemort needed to do was come to the castle, which would have been a simple matter with Snape to clear away the school's magical defenses, and take the wand for himself.

As luck would have it – or maybe, Draco reflected, it truly was fate – Harry Potter had also come to Hogwarts this night, to destroy the Horcrux the Dark Lord had hidden there so many years ago.

Draco knew the Dark Lord would not pass up this opportunity. Now that he had the Elder Wand, he would want to end this war tonight. He would want to face Potter, to kill him, and to claim dominion over the wizarding world once and for all.

But Draco also knew the Dark Lord well enough to know he would not be taking any chances. He would want to confront the Chosen One secure in the knowledge that he and he alone was master of the Elder Wand. The only way to do that, of course, was for Voldemort to defeat the wizard who had killed Albus Dumbledore.

And to Voldemort, Draco knew, "defeat" would mean "kill."

"That's not all," Potter was saying, as if the revelation that Voldemort had stolen the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's grave wasn't hideous enough. His eyes met Draco's; he looked pained by what he was about to say, which only increased Draco's sense of dread.

"It's Snape. When he left here, he went to the Shrieking Shack and…He's dead. Voldemort just killed him."

The air left Draco's lungs in a painful rush, like he'd been punched in the gut. He rocked back on his heels, not caring for once that his grief was written all over his face.

_There's no one left to protect me now. No parents. No Dumbledore. No Snape._

Draco had become surprisingly close to Snape over the past year. Snape hadn't been exactly fatherly – the paternal instinct just wasn't in him – but he had been an excellent teacher, a mentor, a guide and a confidante. Draco had come to realize that Severus Snape was a man of his word. He wasn't necessarily a good man (Draco wasn't sure he himself was a "good" man, in any traditional sense of the word), yet he was loyal, and true, and brave. Draco hadn't understood until that moment just how much he'd come to count on Snape being there to direct him, to explain to him Voldemort's motives, to help him find a way through the nightmarish maze that was the life of a spy.

Of course, Snape's death meant something more in their immediate circumstances: With Snape and Dumbledore both gone, it had fallen to Draco to tell Potter that he would have to die for their side to win.

"Why would he do that?" Weasley demanded. He looked more confused than grief-stricken, which made sense given that all of Potter's friends believed Snape was Voldemort's right-hand man. "Why would You-Know-Who kill Snape?"

Luna came to kneel beside Draco, slipping her arms around his neck, while Potter replied, "I saw them arguing. Voldemort thinks Snape knew Dumbledore had the Elder Wand all along. He thinks Snape betrayed him."

"He did," Draco declared quietly. Over Luna's shoulder, he met and held Potter's gaze. "Snape was never working for Voldemort. He was doing what I've been doing: spying on him, for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix."

Potter looked away, clearly doubtful of that. But there wasn't time to argue. "I have to go out there," he announced. Ginny started to protest, but Potter cut her off. "I don't have a choice, Ginny."

"Why?" she wanted to know. Her eyes blazed. "Why do you have to face him, right this instant, on your own?"

"Because he has to find the snake," Draco answered for Potter, who grated an irritated glance his way, though he didn't deny it. "Isn't that what you've got to do, Potter? Kill the snake?"

"It's the last Horcrux," Potter murmured, more to himself than to any of them. "If I kill the snake, it's over. Voldemort won't be invincible anymore."

Inwardly, Draco winced. How he wished that were true. How he wished the story could have a happy ending, but he knew, deep down, that it couldn't.

Not for Potter, and not for him. Up until that moment, Draco had thought he might make it out of this alive after all. But now that Voldemort had come for the Elder Wand, Draco understood that wasn't going to be the way of it.

Maybe Dumbledore had foreseen how it would all end. Maybe he had known from the beginning Draco would be the one who would have to tell Potter his fate, and that the only way Potter would believe him, because of all the reasons Draco had given the Chosen One not to trust him, was for Draco to show Potter the depth of his conviction by sacrificing himself as well.

Even if Dumbledore hadn't possessed that kind of foresight, it didn't change what Draco had to do. In the end, Potter had to face Voldemort, and Voldemort would not seek out that final confrontation until he was certain the Elder Wand was his to wield.

Draco had to die for Potter to complete his mission, because as master of the Elder Wand, he had to allow Voldemort to defeat him. He had to deceive the Dark Lord one final time, convince him that he could not lose against the Chosen One.

_When I'm dead, the power of the Elder Wand dies with me. Voldemort can kill me, but he won't become the Wand's master._

Draco was certain of one thing: The Elder Wand could no longer be ruled by violence, only by love. And since love was something Voldemort could never, ever feel, the Elder Wand would never serve him.

"I'm coming with you."

Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Draco held up a hand. "If you're going to get to the snake, you're going to need somebody to distract Voldemort."

"I can do that," Weasley put in bravely.

Draco snorted derisively. "You wouldn't be a 'distraction' to the Dark Lord, Weasley – you'd be an appetizer for Nagini." To Potter, he insisted, "The Dark Lord believes I'm on his side. I can get close to him, keep him talking, while you find a way to get to the snake."

Another gigantic explosion rocked the castle. "Whatever we're doing," Hermione spoke up, her voice trembling, "we have to decide. I don't know how much longer our defenses can hold."

The reminder that people were dying all around them spurred Potter to action. "All right," he agreed, looking resigned. He turned to Weasley, and Hermione, promising them, "We'll be back. But if something happens," he added, "remember, you have to kill the snake."

"We won't let you down, Harry," Hermione vowed. She stepped toward him, reaching out to run her fingers tenderly along Potter's cheek. They stared hard into one another's eyes for a long moment.

Draco saw Ginny look away, though she didn't try to come between them.

"Just be careful," Hermione finally said, dropping her gaze.

Weasley came forward, slipping his fingers through Hermione's as he pulled Potter into a brief, one-armed hug. "Look after yourself, mate."

While Potter said his goodbyes, Draco turned to Luna, wondering exactly how he was supposed to walk away from her when he knew neither he nor Potter would be coming back. But Luna shook her head before he could open his mouth. "I'm coming too," she announced, so authoritatively it never occurred to any of them to argue with her.

"You'll need your cloak," Draco told Potter, who produced the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. As Voldemort's heir, Draco could walk across enemy lines fearlessly; Potter and Luna, however, would need to stay out of sight.

Hermione and Ginny hugged Draco. He tried not to let on that he knew this was it, the final goodbye; he didn't want them to stop him or Potter from doing what they had to do now.

Still, it was hard not to hold on a bit longer to each of them than was strictly necessary.

"Take care of him," Ginny whispered in Draco's ear.

Draco didn't answer. He couldn't make that promise; he could only hope Ginny, Hermione and Weasley would understand why one day.

Had it not been for the giants storming through the Forest, the Acromantulas scaling the castle walls, the explosions shattering the darkness, the Dementors circling overhead, and the Death Eaters rushing about in search of victims, it would have been a nice night for a walk.

Draco led the way toward the Whomping Willow. How would have felt odd talking to Potter and Luna under the Invisibility Cloak, except as master of the Elder Wand, he could see them.

The Death Eaters around the castle didn't challenge Draco as he made his way into the Forest, seemingly alone. He could feel the Dementors sapping the warmth and happiness out of the air around him; as they moved under the cover of the trees, away from the battle, Draco felt his steps slowing, his feet turning to lead.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Luna murmured. A silver hare danced in front of her underneath the Invisibility Cloak, its power radiating outward, warding off the Dementors swooping through the treetops.

As they walked deeper into the Forest, the sounds of battle died behind them. Only then, when they were sure not to be overheard, did Draco recount for Potter what Snape had shared with him: Dumbledore's theory that on the night James and Lily Potter had died, Voldemort had inadvertently passed a part of his soul to their infant son when Lily's sacrifice had caused the Dark Lord's Killing Curse to rebound on him.

Potter froze. Luna bumped into him from behind, her Patronus vanishing.

"So you're telling me," Potter said slowly, "that _I'm _a Horcrux?"

Draco concentrated on smoothing all emotion out of his expression. Despite what they had just gone through together in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knew Potter still harbored serious doubts about his true loyalties. Doubts that didn't make telling him Dumbledore had known all along his golden boy would have to die any easier.

"Think about it, Potter," Draco reasoned. "Didn't you ever wonder why you could see into Voldemort's mind, or why you could both talk to snakes? Didn't you ever find it a bit odd that you would share that sort of connection? Did you never wonder why _you_ would have the power to kill the Dark Lord, when even Dumbledore couldn't?"

Potter scuffed the toe of his shoe along the ground. "I-I guess I thought…"

Draco felt an overwhelming surge of pity for Potter then. He could well imagine what Potter had thought, because Dumbledore had led him to believe it: that he was special, gifted, powerful. The damnable part was, Potter _was _all of those things. Yet those qualities, admirable though they were, weren't what made him the Chosen One.

"What really matters," Draco told Potter quietly, completely unself-conscious about the compliment he was about to pay his old enemy, "isn't how you and Voldemort are alike. It's how you're different. You know what it means to love."

Potter glanced up at him sharply, as if Draco were repeating words he'd heard before. Seeing his advantage, Draco pressed, "Dumbledore understood that. He knew, in the end, you'd be willing to sacrifice yourself to see Voldemort finished."

Green eyes dark with emotion, Potter lifted his chin defiantly. "Why should I believe you, Malfoy? How do I know this isn't just another trap?"

Draco stiffened. Having just demonstrated the depth of his respect for Potter, he was stung by the realization – though he should have known to expect it – that Potter still didn't trust him.

"Right," he shot back sarcastically, his temper flaring. "This has all been one huge lie. I spent the last two years getting close to you, let Voldemort murder my parents, nearly died myself fighting Greyback, all so I could convince you to surrender. Because obviously there's no other way Voldemort could kill you unless you give yourself up."

Potter's scowl deepened. "I trusted you before," he reminded Draco coldly. "I won't make the same mistake again."

Refusing to let on how much that particular jibe hurt, calling to mind as it did the horrible scene of Dumbledore's death, Draco ordered himself to calm down. Arguing with Potter was obviously not going to work. He supposed, if he looked at the situation objectively, Potter had every right to be angry with him, if for no other reason than that Draco hadn't been honest with him about what Dumbledore had asked him to do.

One way or another, Draco had to find a way to make Potter believe him. Since he didn't have the luxury of months to prove himself, as he'd had with Ginny and Longbottom, Draco seized the only other option left to him.

He told the truth.

"You're not the only one who isn't getting out of this alive, Potter." Draco spoke softly, yet his words seemed to echo in the air around them. "I have something Voldemort wants, remember? Something he's convinced he needs before he faces you again."

Draco watched understanding dawn on Luna a moment before Potter figured out Draco's riddle. Her topaz eyes widened. In one fluid motion, she cast off the Invisibility Cloak, stepped around Potter, and wrapped her arms tightly around Draco.

"Do you have to?" she whispered in his ear.

Draco saw Potter look away, though he could have cared less if their embrace made the Chosen One uncomfortable. "Yes," he whispered back. "It's the only way, love. I have to let Voldemort kill me."

"Were you going to tell me?"

Smiling sheepishly, Draco gently kissed her temple. "No," he admitted.

"Still trying to protect me," Luna chided. She tipped her head back so she was looking up into his eyes. "I'm not that fragile, you know."

Acknowledging the truth of that with a crooked smile, Draco dipped his head and kissed her tenderly. "Forgive me?" he asked, resting his forehead against hers.

"Of course." Luna managed a bright smile, even as a single tear slipped down her cheek. "I'm proud of you for being such a good friend to Harry."

Draco thought it might all have been worth it, every moment of pain and suffering over the past two years, to hear Luna say she was proud of him.

He slipped his arm around her waist. Together, they turned to face Potter, whose expression was caught somewhere between chagrined and terrified.

"You're really just going to walk in there and let Voldemort kill you?" he asked dubiously.

"I'm open to other ideas," Draco returned lightly. "But I don't see how Voldemort would ever consent to fight you directly unless he believes the Elder Wand is his."

"Won't it be?" Potter pressed, frowning. "If he kills you, doesn't that make him the wand's master?"

"Not anymore. Dumbledore wasn't defeated," Draco reminded him. "He surrendered. I can't explain how I know this, but I _know _the Elder Wand can't be taken by force any longer. Lucky for us," he added, "Voldemort doesn't know that. And he wouldn't believe it anyway. He doesn't put much stock in love."

A long silence followed, broken by screams and explosions from the castle. The sounds of battle seemed to jar Potter from his private reverie. Frowning with determination, he declared, "All right. If it's the only way, then let's get it over with."

"You have to kill the snake first if you can, don't forget that," Draco put in, as Luna picked up the Cloak where Potter had dropped it on the grass and slipped back under it. "I'll try to buy you some time, but it might not be more than a minute or two."

Potter nodded. An awkward moment ensued in which neither of them knew quite what to say to one another.

_How do you thank somebody for dying for you? _Draco wondered. _How do you apologize for all that's happened?_

In the end, Draco stuck out his hand, and Potter took it. "For the greater good," Draco offered.

Potter smiled back thinly. "For the greater good."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty: With a Kiss

Severus Snape was dead. Draco knew to expect it, thanks to Potter, but seeing the new Headmaster sprawled on the filth-encrusted floor of the Shrieking Shack, his coal-black eyes fixed unseeingly on the ceiling, was no less horrifying for being expected.

Voldemort stood near the cold fireplace grate, swathed in a black cloak, spidery white fingers toying with a long, intricately-carved wand – one Draco had seen Professor Dumbledore wield for six years.

The sight of the Deathstick in Voldemort's hands sent a cold shiver down Draco's spine. Even though he knew Voldemort was not the Elder Wand's true master, there was something about the joyful gleam in the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes that chilled Draco's soul.

The great snake Nagini, protected inside an impenetrable orb, floated near Voldemort, magically suspended in mid-air. Twisting and wriggling like a snake underwater, she flicked her tongue lazily at Draco as he emerged from the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, almost as if she were saying hello.

Draco suppressed a shudder. He hated that bloody snake.

Training his gaze away from where Potter and Luna crouched in the corner, invisible to the Dark Lord, and doing his best not to stare at Snape's lifeless body, Draco knelt before Voldemort and bowed his head.

"My lord, I came as quickly as I could."

Voldemort motioned for him to stand. He took in Draco's disheveled appearance – sooty, sweaty face, wild hair, soiled robes – with a bemused grin. "I see you ran into trouble on the way," he observed evenly. "I suppose I know from whom."

"Potter," Draco confirmed.

As always when he was in the Dark Lord's presence, Draco was careful to compartmentalize his thoughts and feelings, ever on-guard against a surprise mental attack. He believed Voldemort trusted him, but Snape had drilled into Draco the simple truth that Voldemort didn't really trust anyone.

"Do not be fooled by the Dark Lord's seeming affection for you," Snape had warned Draco many times over the last year. "He cares for no one. He trusts no one. You must always remember, Draco, that you are the Dark Lord's enemy. And he shows no mercy to those who betray him."

_Don't think about Snape right now, _Draco commanded himself. He could feel a deep, potent sorrow, not unlike what he'd felt the night of his parents' murder, pressing at the edges of his mind. He couldn't afford to let grief overwhelm now; he needed to be sharp, clear, for just a little while longer.

Draco told himself not to think about that either, though: If he let the horror of what he was doing in, felt the terror of death's cold fingers on his neck, Draco was afraid he would turn around and scamper out of the Shrieking Shack as fast as Crabbe and Goyle had fled the Room of Hidden Things.

Voldemort's smile was ghastly. "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Where did you see our little hero?"

"The castle. He was after something. Something to do with Ravenclaw House." Draco focused on keeping the Dark Lord talking, trying to give Potter time to figure out how to dissolve the magical shield protecting the huge green serpent. "We were in this place, the Room of Hidden Things, they call it." Voldemort scowled. "Zabini came with me. He cast a Fiendfyre curse to try and kill Potter, but he couldn't control it. I barely got out alive."

"And Harry Potter? Did he survive?"

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Draco swallowed audibly, carefully weighing how much of the truth to tell. "He-he saved my life, actually."

The Dark Lord's scarlet eyes glowed with a dangerous fury. "And did he find what he was looking for?"

Draco nodded, not bothering to conceal his fear at the Dark Lord's displeasure. "Ravenclaw's diadem. But the fire destroyed it," he added, trying to sound as if he thought this might be a good thing, since he wasn't supposed to know about the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Voldemort hissed. Draco winced, half-expecting to be cut down right then and there; instead, Voldemort swept his foot through the cold embers inside the fireplace grate and kicked a cloud of ash over Snape's body.

It would have looked like a silly, childish tantrum in anyone besides Voldemort. But the Dark Lord was so evil, his anger so vicious, that his outburst was truly terrifying to behold.

"Traitors!" he snarled. Voldemort turned on Draco, his papery white skin flushed with rage. "I am surrounded by traitors! For years I honored Severus Snape as my most loyal servant, and do you know how he repaid me?" Draco, terrified into silence, couldn't find his voice to answer, but it seemed no answer was expected. Voldemort raged on, "He tried to hide the Elder Wand from me! He wanted the power for himself, no doubt."

Draco focused on not crying out in fear as Voldemort, looking truly demented, grasped his arm and hauled him roughly over to Snape's body. A wave of revulsion rolled over Draco, nearly causing him to gag, as he took in the deep puncture marks on Snape's neck where Nagini had injected the Hogwarts Headmaster with her venom.

It was a horrible, disgusting, painful way to die. Rage flared inside Draco, burning away his fear.

Snape had deserved better.

Voldemort didn't sense the change from fear to fury in his supposed protégé. He kept on, "And now this boy, this Harry Potter, believes he has found a way to destroy me. Somehow, somehow Albus Dumbledore, that insignificant old fool, learned my secrets!"

Spinning Draco around to face him, Voldemort gripped his shoulders and shook Draco hard, so hard his teeth rattled in his head. "I am surrounded by enemies, betrayed by those who swore to serve me. But they shall see, oh, yes." Voldemort laughed, a cruel, hollow sound. "They shall see that the Dark Lord will not be destroyed by a mere child. I have mastered death! I cannot be defeated!"

Through numb lips, Draco managed to lie, "I am loyal to you, my lord."

"Are you?" Slowly, Voldemort calmed. He studied Draco thoughtfully; Draco kept his expression perfectly reverent, carefully wiping from his mind all thoughts except those that were safe for the Dark Lord to see.

After a moment, Voldemort smiled, the fire in his eyes dimming. "Of course you are. I am only upset." He patted Draco's cheek with something akin to affection; Draco had to force himself not to recoil from the Dark Lord's icy touch. "Your loyalty brings me such peace, Draco."

Draco offered a tight smile, thinking to himself how gratifying it would be when it was at last revealed to the Dark Lord that his beloved heir had been his enemy all along.

"Come." Voldemort led Draco over to a long, half-rotted table, where, Draco noticed for the first time, a bottle of expensive champagne and two crystal goblets waited. Voldemort draped an arm around Draco's shoulders and flicked his wand at the bottle, which tipped itself over to pour two glasses of sparkling liquid that floated over to them.

Voldemort selected a goblet out of the air and handed the other to Draco. "I propose a toast," the Dark Lord declared, raising his glass. "To my victory over Harry Potter. As of tonight," he smiled darkly, "the Chosen One shall be no more."

Draco's heart started to pound. This was not the direction he had foreseen this conversation taking – to be joining Voldemort in a toast to his victory. It was strange, Draco realized, that the Dark Lord was treating him exactly as he'd done since Dumbledore's murder: like a son, not like someone he was about to murder.

Could he have been wrong after all? Had Voldemort decided he could master the Elder Wand without sacrificing his heir? Was it possible that Voldemort truly prized Draco, valued him too much to dispense with him so easily?

Chancing a glance at Potter and Luna, Draco admitted to himself how much he wanted to live. He was willing to die, if dying was necessary, but the truth of the matter was, he was seventeen. He didn't want his life to end here, in this horrid little shack, at the hands of this monster. He wanted to find some other way to help in the fight against Voldemort besides giving up his own life.

And maybe he could, Draco mused. Maybe he could take advantage of the Dark Lord's trust enough to convince Voldemort to leave Nagini here, in the protection of his heir, while he went out to fight the Chosen One. Surely Hermione would have some idea how to release the serpent from its magical cage, if only Draco could get the snake back up to the castle, behind enemy lines…

"Tonight, I have at last claimed the Elder Wand," Voldemort was saying, drawing Draco's attention back to him. He displayed the Deathstick proudly, holding it out to Draco, who gave an appropriate gasp of awe. "Nothing can come between me and victory now."

Draco forced a smile he didn't feel. "I'll drink to that, my lord." He raised his glass. "To the end of Harry Potter."

_And to the end of you, you brutal bastard._

Voldemort smiled, baring his sharp white teeth. Hope flaring in him – he would live, the Dark Lord didn't mean to kill him, he would find another way to be of use to Potter in this last battle – Draco tipped his glass to his lips and drank.

He knew instantly that Snape had been right: Voldemort loved no one, not even the boy he had chosen as his heir.

It was not painful to be poisoned, Draco realized with a small measure of grateful surprise. He would have expected dying to hurt more, but it was rather like going to sleep: As the potion slipped down his throat, Draco experienced an odd burning sensation in his stomach, like he'd just taken a gulp of firewhiskey. A second later, his knees buckled; he felt Voldemort's arms circle his waist, catching him, lowering him gently to the ground.

His vision darkening, Draco grasped blindly at the Dark Lord's shoulders as he sank to the floor next to Snape.

_Stay hidden, _Draco silently pleaded with Luna and Potter. He could no longer speak. His throat worked convulsively as his breathing slowed, his lungs closing off. He tried to turn his head toward Luna, to see her one last time, but he couldn't see anything anymore; the blackness was engulfing him.

_You can't help me now, _he thought, fearful that at any moment Potter or Luna would break cover to come to his aid._ Save yourselves. _

_Save yourselves, and finish this._

The last thing Draco heard was the Dark Lord's hissing voice in his ear.

"I regret it."

Luna stared in mute horror as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cradled Draco's limp body, whispering something in his ear that she couldn't make out.

The world seemed to tilt sideways. She realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to pull air into her lungs, push it out, all the while swallowing the scream that was clawing at her throat.

Beside her, Harry stiffened, automatically starting forward. Luna grabbed his wrist, hard, and held him firmly in place.

_We knew this was going to happen, _she tried to tell him with her eyes, when he swiveled around to meet her gaze. _It has to be this way. Stay hidden._

Though she knew it went against his every instinct, Harry obeyed her unspoken command.

You-Know-Who rose slowly to his feet, staring wistfully down at Draco for a long moment. Luna thought for one instant he was going to apologize. Instead, he wordlessly flicked his wand at the snake swirling inside its magical orb and floated the serpent out the door of the Shrieking Shack in front of him, leaving Harry and Luna alone with the bodies of their friends.

Luna threw off the Invisibility Cloak and ran to Draco. She dropped to her knees beside him in the dirt-strewn floor, tears sliding down her cheeks.

He might have been sleeping, he seemed so peaceful. With the tips of her index finger, she reached out and traced his cheekbone, his long nose, his pointed chin, his soft lips, recalling every kiss, every touch, every whisper between them.

She could feel a great, gaping hole opening inside of her.

Harry knelt beside her and placed a hand gently on her back. His voice was gruff with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Luna. I know what he meant to you."

Luna leaned against him. Harry wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soothing words against her hair, while she cried.

_If only he were really just sleeping. If only I could wake him with a kiss, like the prince in the fairytale…_

Luna stilled, her tears slowly drying. If only Draco were sleeping, not dead. If only she could bring him back.

A tiny seed of hope bloomed in her heart. Maybe there was a way. Maybe it didn't have to end like this after all…

Suddenly, from outside, You-Know-Who's cold, high voice, magically amplified, filled the room, causing both Harry and Luna to jump, as he addressed the Hogwarts defenders.

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste."

A loss and a waste? Looking down at Draco, Luna suddenly wished You-Know-Who was still in the room with her. She was angry enough to have torn him and his bloody snake apart with her bare hands.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour," You-Know-Who continued. "Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."

His voice deepened then, became even more snake-like, horrifically menacing. "I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you." Harry stiffened; Luna gripped his hand, staring wide-eyed into his emerald gaze. "I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, the battle recommences.

"This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter," You-Know-Who concluded coldly. "And I shall find you. And I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me.

"One hour."

Those terrifying words hung for a moment in the air before Harry roused himself, steely determination darkening his handsome face. "We have to go," he said, smoothing Luna's tangled curls away from her face. He brushed the tears off her cheeks with his knuckles.

Luna was thankful to Harry for being so tender with her, despite what he was facing himself. Harry really was the best of them all.

Yet, despite how scared she was for him, Luna couldn't go with Harry. He didn't need her anymore; she wasn't sure how she knew that, but all at once, she was certain that her place was right here, in the Shrieking Shack.

"I'm staying with Draco," she decided.

Harry hesitated, obviously wanting to argue – You-Know-Who could come back, Luna knew he was thinking, and she would be here, alone, defenseless. He must have seen that she wouldn't be dissuaded, however, because instead of pressing the issue, he rose to his feet.

"Okay, then," he said quietly. "I have to go find Voldemort. I have to end this, before anyone else gets killed."

"What about the snake?" Luna asked.

"Ron and Hermione know what has to be done. If there's a way to get to Nagini, they'll find it."

"Harry, wait." Hands shaking, Luna reached out, slipped her fingers behind Draco's neck, and opened the clasp of the necklace he wore beneath his robes. She held the seahorse charm out to Harry, who looked quizzically from it to her, not understanding.

Luna smiled sadly. "It's the Resurrection Stone," she explained. "Dumbledore gave it to Draco before he died, and Draco hid it in my necklace, for safekeeping."

She dropped the small stone into Harry's open palm. At his touch, the lime-green rock glowed; a tiny fissure appeared down its center, and a moment later, the Resurrection Stone, magically returning to its full size, lay in Harry's hand.

The seahorse charm immediately reformed itself, nothing more than a curiously-shaped rock once again.

"He always meant me to have this." Harry sounded incredulous, like he couldn't quite square the image he'd always held of Draco with the person his former enemy had turned out to be. "Malfoy, I mean. He really never betrayed me."

"You were right to trust him, Harry." Luna ran her fingers lovingly through Draco's silky hair, smiling down at the boy who so perfectly completed her. "You should listen to your heart. It won't steer you wrong."

Harry stared guilty into Draco's face. "I just wish I'd had the chance, you know, to say…. thanks."

Luna didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know how to ease Harry's guilt. More importantly, she didn't know how to say goodbye, to let him walk out into the night to face certain death.

_Fly away, of course._

Luna drew in a deep, steady breath. Yes, in the end, that was all any of them could do: Fly toward their destinies, and hope to land safely in the end.

Luna couldn't save Harry, so she did what she did best: She offered him her brightest smile and the comforting words she had often heard from her mother. "Don't forget, Harry: Things have a way of sorting themselves out. It'll all be put right in the end, you'll see."

"I hope so." Harry started to go but suddenly turned back. "You should keep this. It's yours."

He pressed the seahorse charm into her hand. Luna clutched it to her bruised heart before clasping the chain around her neck once more. The stone's weight rested comfortingly against her skin, right above her heart.

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Harry."

Luna watched Harry go, slipping back out the tunnel that led through the roots of the Whomping Willow. Her soul seemed to be shattering into a million pieces, yet all the while, her mind was whirling with the scraps of a half-formed plan.

Hesitantly, Luna reached inside her robes and drew out the Time Turner on its long chain. She didn't know why, because she'd never really intended to use it, but all year she had carried the Time Turner with her. Something, a still small voice inside that Luna had long ago learned to trust, had told her she might need it someday.

If only Draco were really just sleeping…

Suddenly, Luna knew what she had to do. She did a quick calculation in her head, figuring out exactly which moment to return to. Then she dropped a soft kiss on Draco's forehead, and, without stopping to think through everything that could go wrong, spun the Time Turner backwards twice.

Luna had always adored fairytales. When she was younger, every night before bed she'd begged her mother to read her a story. One of her favorites had always been Sleeping Beauty. Luna found the idea of being saved from eternal sleep by the kiss of true love impossibly romantic.

Once she was older, Luna's dad had told her the real story behind the fairytale: The Hag Leticia Somnolens had slipped the Draught of Living Death, the most powerful sleeping potion in the wizarding world, to a princess she was jealous of, meaning to let the poor girl wither and die; the Hag's plans had been foiled by a heroic prince, however, who had awoken the lovely princess by dabbing a powerful healing potion, made from the bark of the Wiggentree, onto his lips and then kissing her.

Luna thought it only made the fairytale more romantic to know it was based on real events.

She wasn't sure why the story of Sleeping Beauty had occurred to her as she'd knelt there in the Shrieking Shack beside Draco. Maybe it had just been the sudden, powerful wish that she could wake Draco up, bring him back to life, with the kiss of true love. But as soon as she'd thought it, Luna had realized such a plan might actually work.

The Draught of Living Death was potent enough to mimic death, and Luna, who had always excelled at Potions, knew how to brew the healing potion that could counteract the Draught's effects.

If she could only find some way to see to it that Draco was given the sleeping potion, not whatever poison You-Know-Who had in store for him, Luna had realized, she could bring off the fairytale in real life. Only this time, the princess would be saving the prince.

And so, Luna had gone back in time to that same afternoon. While her past self was busy researching the uses of mandrakes for Professor Sprout's Herbology essay, like everyone else in the castle blithely unaware that in a few hours' time war would break out at Hogwarts, Luna had snuck through the corridors to Professor Slughorn's office. After checking to be sure the professor was out, she'd broken into his private stores, stealing the sleeping potion she would need to fool You-Know-Who into thinking he'd succeeded in poisoning Draco.

She'd also nicked a bottle of expensive champagne from the cabinet above where Slughorn kept his collection of famous witches' and wizards' photos. _To Sluggie, Happy Christmas, Gwenog_, the tag read. Picturing in her mind's eye the bottle of champagne on the table in the Shrieking Shack, Luna had Transfigured Slughorn's bottle into an exact replica; then she'd dumped the sleeping potion into the bubbling liquid and magically resealed the bottle.

After that, the real work had begun: Raiding the deserted Potions classroom, Luna had lifted several complicated ingredients – including Wiggentree bark and Flobberworm mucus – and had crept down to the empty dungeon classroom where Draco and Hermione had once practiced Occlumency. (It was also where she and Draco had spent several happy hours together that spring, though Luna had tried not to dwell on those memories, since they were more than a little distracting and Potion-making was precise work.) There, Luna had brewed the potion that would awaken Draco from his enchanted slumber.

Next, she needed a way to get the bottle inside the Shrieking Shack, to replace the poisoned bottle with the one containing the sleeping potion. The only possible way she could think of to do that, since she couldn't very well barge in on You-Know-Who herself, was to catch Professor Snape on his way to meet He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Unfortunately, brewing the potion had taken longer than Luna had planned, so students had already been evacuating by the time she'd finished in the dungeons. It had taken her quite some time to slip unseen through the crowded corridors; every time she had started to make some headway, she'd been forced to dodge behind a suit of armor or duck into a classroom, afraid of being spotted by her past-self all the while.

At long last, as the first sounds of battle erupted at the castle, Luna raced through the Dark Forest and dropped into a crouch behind a rosebush growing wild near the Whomping Willow. She was tired to the point of exhaustion, grimy with soot and sweat, yet at the same time, she was exhilarated.

If this worked, Draco would live.

If it didn't…Well, she wouldn't think that way. She would stay positive.

Luna was just starting to fear that she'd missed her chance, that Snape had already come down from the castle while she was making her way out of the school, when she spotted a tall, dark figure moving through the trees.

"Professor!"

Luna stood up and waved. Snape pulled up short, glowering at her. Luna realized it was the first time they had spoken since the night Dumbledore had died; she wondered briefly if Snape was thinking the same thing.

"Miss Lovegood, you shouldn't be out here," he decreed coldly. "It isn't safe. Get back to the castle this instant."

"I need your help, Professor." Luna walked fearlessly toward Snape, undeterred by his black glare, ignoring the questions that flickered across his gloomy face as he took in the soot marks on her cheeks and the ash covering her hair and robes. She pulled the champagne bottle from underneath her robes and went on, "You-Know-Who is going to poison Draco. I've come back in time to stop him, but I can't do it without your help."

Snape listened to Luna's tale of what she'd witnessed in the Shrieking Shack and her plan to save Draco without saying a word or giving any hint as to his thoughts. He didn't even react when she told him that You-Know-Who planned to kill him, Snape, as well.

When she finished, he simply took the bottle from her and said, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Professor." Impulsively, Luna stretched up on tip-toe and kissed Snape's cold cheek. He gawked at her like she'd just sprouted wings; Luna smiled brightly at him. "I know how much you've done to help Harry. To protect all of us, really. I'll never forget it."

The strangest look crossed Snape's face then. "Before he died," Snape told Luna softly, his black eyes holding hers, "Dumbledore predicted you would play an important role in the Dark Lord's downfall. I, for one, am not surprised that he was right. You are an extraordinary witch, Miss Lovegood."

Without giving Luna a chance to reply, Snape turned, pointed his wand at the Whomping Willow to freeze its branches, and marched on to meet his doom.

Luna walked a short distance into the trees, careful to remain out of sight of the path leading down from the castle, where she knew her past self would shortly emerge with Harry and Draco. She closed her eyes and let the warm night air wash over her. She felt horribly sad for brave Professor Snape, grimly setting off to face death, yet his courage gave her strength. If Snape could go to meet You-Know-Who knowing he was going to die, then Luna could face what was still to come.

Draco she had a chance of saving, for all that mattered was You-Know-Who _believing_ Draco was dead. But Harry – Harry was a different story.

Harry really had to die. That was the only way You-Know-Who would no longer be immortal. That was the secret Professor Dumbledore had kept all these years: Harry was the key to You-Know-Who's undoing, because he was one of You-Know-Who's ties to immortality.

Luna opened her eyes and stared up at the stars. She let her mind replay every memory she had of Harry, from the first night they'd been formally introduced in the carriages leading up to the start-of-term feast at the beginning of her fourth year, to that very evening in the Ravenclaw dormitory. She pictured his messy dark hair, his lively green eyes, his modest smile. Harry was more than a hero to Luna; he was her friend, one of the first real friends she'd ever had. She loved Harry. The world – her world – would be a lesser place without him in it.

Behind her, Luna heard footsteps approaching. She hid behind a tree, listening as Draco convinced Harry that they both had to sacrifice themselves to stop You-Know-Who. She smiled to herself, pressing her fingers to her lips as she recalled the tenderness of Draco's last kiss.

Being in love was wonderful, even when it was bittersweet.

After she was sure the three of them had reached the Shrieking Shack, Luna sat down on the roots of the Whomping Willow, pointing her wand at the base of the tree and freezing it as Snape had done. She listened closely for the sound of Harry coming back out of the tunnel, alone.

Her heart began to pound, the minutes dragging on interminably as she waited. What if Snape hadn't been able to switch the bottles? What if Draco really had been poisoned? What if he was gone forever, gone where she couldn't follow?

_Then you go on. Live your life. Be happy._

Luna felt a kind of peace settle over her as her inner voice, the one that sounded so much like her mother's, whispered in her ear. Whatever happened, she knew she would be all right. Despair just wasn't in Luna's nature. She didn't know how to give up hope.

Suddenly, You-Know-Who's ultimatum echoed in the night air around her. Luna scrambled off to the side, out of sight, and sure enough, in just a few minutes, Harry, his mind obviously elsewhere, emerged from the tunnel and strode off purposefully into the darkness. Luna had to stop herself calling out to him, begging him not to go, to find some other way to end this dreadful war.

Terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time. Luna knew this; she knew she was taking an awful chance by going back to save Draco. Much as she would have liked to put everything right, to make it all turn out the way she wanted, Luna was wise enough to understand that not every story had a happy ending.

Harry's story seemed destined to end tragically. But maybe, just maybe, Draco's could end differently.

Hurrying down the tunnel, Luna stepped into the Shrieking Shack just as her past self, kneeling beside Draco, pulled out the Time Turner, spun it, and vanished.

Luna wasted no time. Rushing into the room, she dropped to her knees once more beside Draco's lifeless body. He was pale and still, his silky blonde hair falling across his forehead, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, looking as corpse-like as a live person could – or at least she hoped he was alive.

_Please let this work. Please let him only be sleeping._

Hands trembling, Luna slipped the Wiggenweld Potion from the pocket of her robes and dabbed it onto her lips. Her idea, after all, had been inspired by a fairytale, and Luna, shameless romantic that she was, wanted to see the story through.

Leaning over, she breathed above Draco's mouth, "I love you." She stared hard into his face, willing him to hear her, as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Come back to me."

With a gasp, Draco opened his eyes.

Blinking to clear the dark spots from his vision, Draco watched Luna take the Time Turner from around her neck and fling it into the cold fireplace. She pointed her wand at the charred embers, causing flames to burst to life and consume the small golden hourglass.

_How am I alive?_

"Luna?" Draco managed. His head was swimming; he was so groggy he could hardly push up onto his elbow. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. "Wh-what happened?"

"I saved you," Luna answered brightly.

"But how?" He looked down at the shards of crystal goblet smashed around him, where he'd dropped the glass as the poison – at least he'd assumed it was poison – coursed through him. "Voldemort poisoned me…"

Draco listened in amazement, the cobwebs falling from his mind, as Luna described her clever scheme to go back in time, steal the Draught of Living Death from Slughorn's stores, and switch out the champagne bottles so Voldemort would believe Draco was dead when, all the while, he was simply sleeping.

Draco shook his head when she'd finished. "But how in the world did you ever think something like this up? I mean, it's brilliant," he added hastily. "Just a bit…unconventional. What made you think of it?"

"Sleeping Beauty," Luna replied, as if that explained everything.

Unable to suppress a laugh, Draco reached out, caught Luna's hand, and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "You really are the strangest girl, you know that, right?"

Luna nodded happily. "Yes, I know."

"Too bad about the Time Turner." Draco inclined his head toward the dancing flames. "That might have come in handy again, you know."

A cloud passed over Luna's pretty face. "You were right," she told him. "It's too tempting to be able to change time. It's too much power."

Draco couldn't disagree. In a way, thankful as he obviously was to be alive, he was glad the option to go back in time, to arrange the outcome as they would like it to have been, had been removed from them.

Because somewhere, out there in the night, Potter was preparing to sacrifice himself so that Voldemort could be defeated. Draco knew, when it came right down to it, Luna would have wanted to spare Potter that fate.

He knew that, because Draco felt the same way.

"Come on, love. We'd best go see if we can find Nagini." Draco let Luna help him to his feet, where he swayed for a moment, still woozy from the sleeping draught. Luna slid an arm around his waist. Draco leaned against her, heading unsteadily toward the door.

"What are we going to do when we find the snake?" Luna wanted to know.

The night air helped to revive Draco. He drew in a deep, cleansing breath, reveling for a moment in the simple pleasure of filling his lungs with air. Coming within a hair's breadth of death had a way of making a person appreciate the simple things in life, he was finding.

"I don't know," Draco confessed. "But there's got to be a way. We have to kill the snake, or else…"

Luna nodded her understanding. If Nagini survived, Potter's death would be for naught. Draco had no idea how to go about it, but he had to find a way to penetrate the shield Voldemort had created around his gruesome pet. He had to be sure Potter didn't die in vain.

They crept through the forest, hand-in-hand, until Draco heard voices up ahead. He pulled Luna behind an old, dying oak tree, peering out around its moss-covered stump to spy on the circle of Death Eaters gathered around Voldemort and Potter, who faced each other across a small fire in the center of the clearing.

Naming them off in his mind, Draco noted that the Dark Lord's most fearsome Death Eaters were all here: Yaxley, Dolohov, Rowle, Rookwood, Rastaban Lestrange, and, standing nearest Voldemort, his aunt Bella.

Nagini, secure inside her magical cage, floated in the air behind Voldemort.

"Hagrid," Luna whispered. Draco followed her gaze to where their Care of Magical Creatures professor was bound, glaring about at the Death Eaters with a ferocity Draco wouldn't have thought possible from the gentle giant.

But they couldn't help Hagrid now, anymore than they could help Potter. They were out-numbered. Revealing themselves would have been suicide.

They were too far away to hear what was being said. It didn't matter; Draco knew what was coming. Voldemort believed he now had the means to kill Potter, and he would show no mercy. Potter had eluded the Dark Lord many times in his seventeen years, but he would not escape not tonight.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Luna buried her face in Draco's shoulder as Voldemort's Killing Curse struck Potter full in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Draco wanted to look away, too, but he made himself watch. He wasn't sure why; he just somehow felt he owed it to Potter to be a witness to his last and noblest deed.

Something odd happened then, the significance of which Draco wouldn't understand until later: As Potter collapsed, so did Voldemort.

The Death Eaters gasped. Draco saw his aunt Bella rush forward, dropping to her knees beside the Dark Lord.

For a second, Draco thought perhaps Voldemort had killed himself by killing Potter. Yet he knew that couldn't be. Nagini was still alive, and so long as the snake lived, Voldemort couldn't die.

"That will do," he heard Voldemort say. He was getting to his feet, shaken but whole.

The Death Eaters began murmuring then, and their whispers, along with Hagrid's sobs, drowned out whatever the Dark Lord was saying to Bellatrix. Draco didn't think it mattered much. So far as Voldemort was concerned, victory was in his grasp; the details of how he planned to take the castle were irrelevant.

"Rastaban." Draco saw Voldemort extend a long, white finger toward the thin man, who stepped obediently forward, bowing slightly at the waist. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

In the silver moonlight, Rastaban looked pale and drawn. Watching him kneel beside the still, lifeless form, Draco was surprised by how gently Rastaban pressed his ear to Potter's chest, looking almost remorseful.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered why someone like Rastaban had pledged himself to the Dark Lord's service. He just didn't seem as evil as the other Death Eaters. In fact, he looked quite sickened by the whole scene.

For a moment, Draco thought he saw Rastaban's lips move, as if he were whispering something to Potter. Draco blinked.

_A trick of the moonlight, _he decided. _And your own wishful thinking – Potter's dead._

Rastaban must have confirmed that, because a sudden cheer went up from the Death Eaters, led by Draco's aunt Bella, who danced madly around her master.

"_Crucio_!"

The Dark Lord pointed his wand at Potter's body, and the limp form shot into the air, bouncing around like a macabre puppet. Draco clenched his fists at his sides, reminding himself that for Potter, the pain was over. Voldemort wasn't one to allow his enemies a decent burial; Draco had seen this first hand. But Potter was beyond harm now. Nothing the Dark Lord could do to him would hurt him anymore.

Draco didn't realize he was crying until Luna gently brushed tears off his cheeks with the tips of her fingers.

"Is it over?" she whispered against his neck, still unable to look.

Draco nodded. Voldemort had let Potter's body fall back onto the grass. He must have ordered Hagrid to carry him, because he released the ropes that held the half-giant's feet, and Hagrid, sobbing, leaned over and scooped Potter up from the Forest floor.

Potter looked so small and helpless in Hagrid's enormous arms – small and helpless and young and handsome and heroic.

Draco did look away then, overcome by emotions he couldn't begin to name. He remembered pretending to be the Boy Who Lived when he was a child, pretending to be the one who had defeated the Dark Lord; he could never have imagined then what that defeat would ultimately entail, the sacrifice it would require.

Draco felt cold and empty inside, wrung out of every feeling except a vengeful rage. All that was left to him was to finish it.

When Draco pulled himself together enough to look back at the Death Eaters, he finally saw his chance to do just that: Voldemort, secure in his victory, had released Nagini from her magical cage. The snake slithered along the ground at her master's feet, delighting in her restored freedom, her forked tongue darting out to taste the night air.

"Come, Nagini," Voldemort called. "Let's show our enemies what becomes of those who defy Lord Voldemort."

Draco waited until the Death Eaters had melted into the trees before helping Luna to her feet. She didn't ask where they were going. She simply followed him, cuffing tears off her cheeks as they walked.

As they neared the castle, Luna could see the Hogwarts defenders gathered on the school's front steps, staring in horror as Hagrid deposited Harry's body on the ground and stepped back, his powerful shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs.

You-Know-Who was talking, but Luna wasn't listening. She was watching Draco watch Nagini as the giant green serpent circled Harry's body, looking hungry.

Luna squeezed Draco's fingers. She suspected he had a plan; she wanted him to know she would be right behind him, no matter what.

The defenders were taking the news of Harry's death hard. Hermione, Ginny and Ron stood on the top-most step. Hermione, seemingly too stunned for tears, was clutching Ron, whose face was bone-white. Ginny stood beside her brother, her pretty features contorted with agony – and, as she looked down at You-Know-Who, pure unadulterated hate.

Ron's parents were poised on the step just below their two children and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley had her hands pressed to her mouth as if she was holding back a scream; Mr. Weasley was slowly shaking his head, like he simply refused to believe what he was seeing. Luna spotted George in the castle's doorway, hugging his arms to his chest like he was trying to hold himself together.

Her throat constricted as she noted that he was covered in blood and that his twin, Fred, was nowhere to be seen.

Luna tried not to think about how many other familiar faces were missing. She focused instead on those who were still alive: Spread out through the battle-weary crowd, Luna saw Neville holding hands with Hannah (who must have returned to fight even though her father had held her out of school all year); Cho, flanked by Susan and Ernie; Seamus standing with the Patil twins and Katie Bell; Professors Slughorn, Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall, the Heads of Houses, arranged together on the front lines, between the students and You-Know-Who; and many other Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had stayed behind to fight. They all looked equally stricken.

Draco didn't seem to see the crowd at all. He was focused solely on the snake. Luna knew what he was thinking: The past two years had all been about this moment – defeating You-Know-Who, once and for all. They couldn't stop to think about what this fight had cost them yet. They had to concentrate on winning, because they couldn't afford to fail.

For Harry's sake, they had to finish this.

_But what happens after the snake dies? Who's supposed to kill You-Know-Who now that Harry can't?_

With a sudden shock, Luna realized for the first time that Harry's death had left them without their hero, without the person she (like everyone else) had always assumed would face You-Know-Who in the end. Her mind whirled through the possibilities of those who might take Harry's place. She thought first of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the greatest Auror alive now that Mad-Eye Moody was gone, before another, far more disturbing possibility occurred to her.

Kingsley wasn't the master of the Elder Wand. Draco was.

Luna shook off those thoughts. One thing at a time. First, they had to kill the snake.

"Stay here," Draco ordered Luna, so softly she had to lean in to hear him. He stared hard into her eyes. "Promise me you'll stay right here, no matter what happens."

Luna understood. Draco wanted her to survive this. She could see that the only way he could find to go on was if he believed she had a chance to make it out.

And so, although she had every intention of fighting when the chance presented itself, Luna nodded. "Be careful," was all she said.

Draco inched closer to the circle of Death Eaters surrounding Harry and You-Know-Who. Meanwhile, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was exhorting his enemies to lay down their arms, telling them that their only hope of victory had died with Harry.

"For Gryffindor!"

With that battle cry, Neville started forward, his eyes fixed on Nagini. Luna's heart constricted. She admired Neville's courage, but she knew it was hopeless – the numbers were against him; he would never reach the snake in time.

Sure enough, Neville hadn't taken two steps before You-Know-Who's Body-Bind Curse sent him crashing to the stone steps.

But it was all the distraction Draco needed.

In a flash, Draco Transfigured into the giant silver panther. Steps from the Death Eaters' backs, Luna watched the great cat coil its powerful muscles, shrink back, and in one graceful bound, leap cleanly over the heads of their astonished enemies.

Whiskers landed neatly in the center of the Death Eaters' circle, right next to Potter and Nagini.

You-Know-Who turned to gape at the panther in utter disbelief, trying to process what was happening – trying to puzzle out how Harry, whom he had believed to be the Animagus behind the infamous silver panther, could be dead, and yet the great cat could still be alive.

Luna's soul soared with triumph as the Death Eaters, like their master momentarily too stunned to act, stood helplessly by as Whiskers pounced on Nagini.

You-Know-Who gave a strangled cry of rage, but it was too late: Whiskers sank his long white teeth into the serpent's neck, ripping through its scales, tearing the snake's head from its body in one bite.

"NO!" You-Know-Who's scream echoed in the sudden silence.

Luna, like everyone else, was frozen in place, merely staring as the giant cat calmly cleaned blood and gore from its muzzle on the grass. Pacing forward once, the panther disappeared in mid-stride, revealing the Animagus who had killed Fenrir Greyback and, now, had destroyed You-Know-Who's final Horcrux.

Draco appeared calm and regal, his handsome face dirt-streaked and tear-stained but resolute. He fixed You-Know-Who with his most condescending sneer. Surrounded by enemies, he showed absolutely no fear; in fact, he looked quite frightening himself, almost demonic, with the snake's blood smearing his chin and his white-blonde hair blackened from the fire in the Room of Hidden Things.

"That was for my parents," Draco declared boldly, staring directly into You-Know-Who's eyes.

You-Know-Who's mouth worked uselessly for a moment. "You…You were dead," he murmured.

"Maybe I'm a ghost," Draco returned easily. His sapphire eyes snapped fire as he turned to the crowd of Hogwarts defenders. "Don't give up! We can still win this! Harry Potter sacrificed himself so the Dark Lord could be – "

"Traitor!" Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked. Luna gasped as Draco's aunt, her eyes rolling wildly in their sockets, leapt forward and aimed her wand directly at him. "You will pay for this! _Crucio_!"

"_Protego_!"

Before Luna could move between Draco and the danger, incredibly, Rastaban Lestrange, Bellatrix's brother-in-law, stepped forward and deflected the Curse.

The crowd of defenders and Death Eaters looked on in disbelief as Rastaban moved to Draco's side. "I don't think you'll be torturing anyone else tonight, Bella," Rastaban announced smoothly. Bellatrix gaped at him, open-mouthed, as he turned his attention to You-Know-Who. "If I were you, my lord," Rastaban's lips curled hatefully around the title, "I'd consider running away about now."

Chaos erupted at that instant. Luna recognized even then that the arrival of reinforcements was all that had saved Draco and Rastaban: Bellatrix and You-Know-Who, his scarlet eyes livid with fury, were taking aim at them, preparing to kill the traitor who had destroyed the final Horcrux and the Death Eater who had dared protect him. At the last possible instant, however, Bellatrix and her master were distracted by what sounded like hundreds of pairs of feet pounding through the darkness.

It was a strange mish-mash of fighters, Luna saw with delight. She imagined how pleased Professor Dumbledore would have been to see so many different creatures come together to defeat You-Know-Who.

Out the front doors of the school streamed a veritable army of house-elves, led by Dobby and Harry's ancient elf Kreacher, who was shouting, "Fight, fight for my master, the defender of the house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!"

In the skies above the Forest suddenly appeared a flock of Thestrals, following the Hippogriff Buckbeak, their powerful wings creating a thunderous cacophony in the night air as they swooped toward the castle grounds. Added to the noise was that of hundreds of hooves, as from the trees emerged a legion of Centaurs wielding bows and swords, finally stirred from their Forest.

And, last but not least, Ron's older brother Charlie, followed by what looked like the friends and family members of practically every Hogwarts student who had remained behind, came striding up the lane from the school's gate, shouting a battle cry.

The Death Eaters did the only thing they could under the circumstances. They ran.

A cheer went up from the defenders as the battle moved inside, the Death Eaters fleeing blindly, the defenders herding them toward the Great Hall. Luna ran toward Draco, who grabbed her hand as they sprinted up the steps to join the fight.

She saw Ron, Hermione, and Ginny being swept along in front of them. Draco turned to grin wickedly at her.

"What do you say we go finish this?"

Luna nodded. She was scared and exhilarated and angry and sad all at the same time, and she understood that the hardest part – killing You-Know-Who – had yet to come. But it was time to end it, whatever the cost. It was time to take back their world from You-Know-Who –

No, Luna decided, she would not be afraid of his name anymore. She would not be afraid of Voldemort any longer. He wasn't a god. He was a man, and now, thanks to Harry and Draco, he was a man who could be killed.

Running forward to face their enemies, neither Luna nor Draco nor anyone else turned back in time to see Harry Potter disappearing underneath his Invisibility Cloak once more.

_**A/N**_: I know in _DH _Neville kills Nagini with the Sword of Gryffindor, and much as I hated to steal Neville's thunder, I thought this should be Draco's moment. I also don't believe a magical object was needed to kill Nagini; as Dumbledore pointed out, she was a living creature, and therefore much more vulnerable than the other Horcruxes because she could be destroyed by any means, magical or otherwise.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One: The Last Act

The battle wasn't over, though the tide had definitely turned in favor of the Hogwarts defenders.

Crowding into the Great Hall, Draco found duels being fought on all sides. Death Eaters were set upon by Centaurs, D.A. members, teachers, and knife-wielding house-elves; realizing the desperateness of their plight, Draco saw some of the black-hooded figures fighting their way to the door, intent on escape. Some made it out. Most did not.

Draco and Luna joined the fray as soon as they burst into the hall. Yaxley and Dolohov were standing directly in front of them, winging Curses at Hermione and Weasley. By silent mutual consent, Draco and Luna stopped to help their friends.

"Glad to see me, Granger?" Draco called to Hermione, deflecting a spell Yaxley sent her way, while Luna took her place at Weasley's side to battle Dolohov.

Hermione's eyes, feverishly bright and shining with tears, never left her target. "Harry sacrificed himself, didn't she?" she asked, side-stepping a Blasting curse.

Draco confirmed that with a nod. He saw Hermione and Weasley share a grim look that mirrored his own stoic determination to see this through.

In the center of the Great Hall, Voldemort was fighting McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley at once, but so far as Draco could see, they weren't having any luck bringing the Dark Lord down. Voldemort was still shouting orders to his shrinking numbers, still trying to rally the Death Eaters.

Fighting Voldemort's minions hadn't gotten any easier since that night at Malfoy Manor, Draco had to admit, yet he, Hermione, Weasley and Luna all seemed to be operating from a similar store of fury. They held their own, dancing around Yaxley and Dolohov's curses, until, seeing his chance, Draco finally managed to slip a Stunning spell through Yaxley's defenses.

The big man crashed to the ground. Dolohov turned his attention to Draco, his mouth curled into a snarl of fury.

"_Incarcerous_!" a voice cried at Draco's elbow, and thick ropes suddenly bound Dolohov head to toe.

Turning, Draco found Rastaban Lestrange grinning at him. "When they put me on trial again," he said calmly, "I expect you to act as a character witness for me."

"Why are you helping us?" Draco demanded.

Rastaban shrugged. He caught Luna's arm and pulled her out of the way as a suit of armor crashed into the room, in hot pursuit of a screaming Alecto Carrow. Weasley and Hermione set off after her, Weasley obviously trying to fight his way toward where Ginny was dueling Nott.

"I was about your age when the Dark Lord recruited me into his service," Rastaban offered simply. "Let's just say, after a decade or so in Azkaban, I've grown up a bit."

Draco arched an eyebrow. Seeing his skepticism, Rastaban grinned. "The fact that Regulus Black was my best friend might've had something to do with my change of heart, I suppose."

That made sense, Draco thought. Snape had told him all about Sirius Black's younger brother changing his allegiance, trying to destroy the Horcrux Voldemort had made from Slytherin's locket, at the cost of his own life. Draco recalled seeing a picture of Regulus in his mother's photo album; he had been young and handsome, the star Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Draco could imagine how the pain of losing his best friend would have eaten away at Rastaban over the long, hopeless years in Azkaban, leaving him a different man than the one who had helped torture Longbottom's parents into insanity in his youth.

Leaning in, Rastaban said quietly, "I wouldn't give up hope just yet, if I were you. Your friend, Harry Potter?" Draco's heart started to pound. "I lied out there in the woods. When I told the Dark Lord he was dead."

With that, Rastaban moved swiftly away, exploding a table beside a group of hooded Death Eaters and showering them in sparks and splinters.

Draco stood stock-still, too astonished to move. He couldn't let himself hope it was true. After all, he had _seen _Potter die, had watched Voldemort's Killing Curse lift him clean off his feet out there in the Forest. No one could survive a Killing Curse.

_Well, actually, Potter is living proof that they can._

But how? Lily Potter's sacrifice had protected her son as a baby, but surely that magic, ancient though it was, couldn't hold for sixteen years.

Draco thought suddenly of Voldemort collapsing as his Killing Curse had struck Potter in the woods. Maybe – just maybe – what had died out there in the Forest hadn't been Potter at all, but the part of Voldemort's soul that had passed to him the night James and Lily Potter had died.

A tiny bubble of hope rose underneath Draco's heart. He let it float there, but he didn't dwell on it. He didn't think he could handle the pain of believing Dumbledore hadn't set Potter up to die after all, only to discover he was wrong.

"Draco, watch out!"

Ginny's shout brought Draco back to himself as a jet of green light winged over his shoulder, missing his ear by a half-inch. He pivoted, wand ready, to find himself facing his Aunt Bella.

"Here, kitty kitty," Bellatrix crooned. Her face was a picture of madness: wild eyes, bared teeth, tangled hair – truly horrifying to behold.

Draco instinctively began to circle, mirroring her moves. He let his muscles relax and sank into a predatory rhythm he'd learned in his panther form.

"What's the matter, Draco?" Bellatrix taunted. She flicked her wrist; a brazier flew off the wall, forcing Draco to duck as the missile whizzed past his head. "Is the little baby scared? You know, my darling sister never did have the stomach for battle," Bellatrix observed. "And your father, well," she cackled, "we all know how pampered old Lucius was. Two cowards for parents – I wonder what that makes you, kitten?"

Draco refused to rise to her baiting. He held his emotions in check, channeling the rage as he had learned in Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, letting the anger make his mind clearer, his reflexes sharper.

"I don't know, Aunt Bella. I always thought I took more after your side of the family."

Bellatrix faltered. For just a moment, she seemed to recall that this was her nephew she was trying to kill – her own flesh and blood, her sister's child.

But Draco wasn't interested in Bellatrix's mercy. Too much had happened this night; too much had been lost. Draco wanted to fight.

"You know," he continued wickedly, "the Black side. Like our cousin Sirius."

Bellatrix roared with anger. Draco laughed as he side-stepped her first Curse, though soon, he wasn't laughing: He was fighting for his life, because Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most dedicated servant, was a force to be reckoned with.

Draco was hardly aware of the duels dying out around them as the Death Eaters fled, gave up, or were defeated. He didn't even know where Luna was. He fixed his concentration entirely on Bellatrix, doing his best to stay alive, searching desperately for a hole in her defenses. Twice her Killing Curses nearly found their mark; no matter how many Shield charms Draco threw up, Bellatrix just fought her way through them.

After several long minutes, Draco found himself backed up against the Slytherin House table. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny and Hermione darting toward him from across the room, their faces twin masks of fear.

"No!" Draco shouted, waving them off. He tried to infuse his words with authority, stifling his fear. "She's mine."

Ginny kept moving forward, but Hermione caught her and pulled her back.

Draco had always suspcted he would be no match for Bellatrix. Sure enough, just as he took aim to try Disarming her, he was forced to roll under the Slytherin House table to avoid yet another Killing Curse. The spell cracked the table straight down the middle; Draco scrambled out the other side, shaking his head when Hermione started forward again.

Win or lose, he refused to be responsible for anything happening to another one of his friends.

Every spell he sent her way, Bellatrix neatly dodged. She was toying with him, Draco realized, like he'd toyed with Zabini at the Dueling Club tournament. She could finish him any time she wanted.

Draco could feel himself losing hope, when, unbidden, something Luna had said to him once, just after they'd returned from fighting Greyback at Malfoy Manor, suddenly rang in his ears.

_"Only very powerful wizards can become Animagi. Being one would draw attention to you. I think you like for people to underestimate you."_

Looking away from his opponent for a half-second, Draco found himself staring directly into Luna's topaz eyes. She was standing near the entrance to the Great Hall, her blonde curls tumbling prettily around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on him. She didn't look afraid. In fact, she smiled dreamily at him, like he had already won this fight – like it wasn't possible for him to lose.

In that instant, Draco finally saw himself as Luna saw him: a wizard equal to his Animagus form, the great silver panther. For the first time, Draco sensed his own power – a power that didn't come from his ability to deceive or manipulate others, where he'd always believed his true talents lay, but from deep within himself, the place from which the panther had emerged, a reflection of his truest self. Draco at last recognized the strength and intelligence that had drawn Luna to him, and he realized, suddenly, that even though he would never match Potter's skill, he knew how to defeat Bellatrix Lestrange.

His aunt had always made the mistake of underestimating him, just as Voldemort had, believing him young and weak and easily controlled. But Draco wasn't weak. He wasn't a hero, but he wasn't a coward, either – at least, not anymore. He could accept that he might have been at one time, but fighting alongside Potter and Luna and Weasley and Hermione and Snape over the last two years had changed that. Had changed him, fundamentally.

Bellatrix leapt gracefully onto the Ravenclaw House table, cackling madly as she pointed her wand down at where Draco stood in front of her, his eyes on Luna's. "_Crucio_!"

Draco shifted to the side just in time to avoid his aunt's Curse. As he did so, he fell to one knee; to anyone watching, he no doubt appeared on the verge of defeat, exhausted and out-matched. Bellatrix shrieked a victory cry, a mad, howling sound that chilled the blood.

Looking up at her from under his eyelashes, Draco waited for his aunt to flourish her wand. He knew she would. After all, she had been his teacher for the past two summers, and Draco was an excellent student.

He had studied Bellatrix's style. He knew how she liked to kill, knew she would drop her guard when victory seemed certain. And when she did, Draco took his chance.

"_Expulso_!"

Bellatrix's eyes widened as the table she was standing on exploded. The force of the blast hurled her through the air; she was tossed backward where she slammed hard into the far wall, crumpling, her neck resting at a grotesque angle, nothing more than a broken doll.

"NO!"

Voldemort's furious yell stilled the Great Hall like a Silencing charm. Draco simply stared, his legs shaking from weariness – he really was exhausted, running mostly on fear and anger by this point – as the Dark Lord, black cloak swirling around him like a storm cloud, stalked down the length of the House tables toward him.

"I will destroy you, you miserable, treacherous little brat!"

Voldemort's rage at seeing his last and best lieutenant killed was paralyzing. Only Flitwick and McGonagall dared step into his path; the Dark Lord easily Stunned them both, never taking his eyes off Draco.

Draco didn't pretend for one moment he had the skill to duel the Dark Lord. He might have finally learned to believe in himself, but he wasn't stupid: He wouldn't last three seconds against Voldemort.

"_Protego_!"

For the second time that night, a protective Shield appeared between Draco and a would-be attacker. Only this time, Draco knew it wasn't Hermione or Rastaban protecting him.

He knew that voice, even as his mind told him it couldn't be, regardless of what Rastaban had said. It wasn't possible.

"Leave Malfoy out of this. It's not him you want."

In the absolute silence that had descended upon the Great Hall, Harry Potter's voice rang out like a silver bell on a clear morning.

Hardly daring to trust his own ears, Draco slowly turned. Incredibly, the Chosen One stood unscathed at the end of the Hall, the Invisibility Cloak at his feet, his emerald eyes fixed on Voldemort.

Right behind him stood Luna, smiling radiantly.

The Dark Lord froze. Draco had the good sense to step hastily out of the way as Potter strode forward, showing not a hint of fear as he let his Shield dissolve.

"I don't want anyone else to try to help," Potter called to the assembled defenders, who were all shouting his name and cheering. He locked eyes with Draco for a split-second. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Draco nodded, once, to show he understood. This was Potter's battle to finish, however it turned out.

Voldemort hissed. "Potter doesn't mean that. That isn't how he works, is it?"

Draco took his place beside Hermione, Ginny, and Weasley as Potter came to a stop a few feet from Voldemort. Luna, beaming at the gathered faces, ambled along behind the Chosen One. As he reached his enemy, she veered off to join Draco, whom she kissed sweetly on the lips.

"Harry's back," she whispered.

Draco squeezed her hand, pulling her in close to his side. "I noticed."

"Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?" Voldemort was demanding snidely.

Potter appeared completely unruffled. "Nobody. There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives."

It might have been a shadow, but Draco thought a flicker of fear crossed the Dark Lord's skull-like face as Potter invoked the Prophecy like a battle cry.

"And one of us is about to leave for good."

Luna did a double-take as Rastaban Lestrange whispered to Draco: "Your friend, Harry Potter? I lied out there in the woods. When I told the Dark Lord he was dead."

As soon as he said it, Luna knew it was true. Somehow, she thought, a part of her had known it all along – the part of her that had refused to give up hope, that had been able to watch Harry march off to face Voldemort in the first place, that had never stopped trusting Professor Dumbledore to protect them all.

Harry was alive.

Pivoting on the spot, she bolted from the Great Hall, streaking past Centaurs and house-elves and students and Death Eaters, through the foyer and onto the castle steps. Her pulse beat wildly in her throat. She pulled up short in the cool outside air, her eyes skimming the ground at the bottom of the stairs, where in the grey half-light of near-dawn, Harry Potter's body should have been.

And wasn't.

Luna walked back into the castle. She could hear the fight raging inside the Great Hall, but, worried as she was about her friends, she didn't return there. She stopped, looking around at the bodies lovingly assembled on the stone floor of the castle's foyer: little Colin Creevey; brave Professor Lupin and his wife, the pretty lady Ginny and Hermione called Tonks; Johanna Evanston; and, perhaps most devastating of all, Fred Weasley, his face scratched and bruised.

Luna stared hard at a spot beside Ron's older brother. She thought she could almost make out a shimmer in the air there, a kind of glow, like light reflected through a prism.

"Harry?"

After a beat, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak off and rose from where he'd been kneeling beside Fred, his face a mask of anguish.

Even as the world threatened to collapse around them, even though Voldemort was still alive and fighting just a few feet from them, in that instant Luna knew it was all going to be all right. Harry was going to win.

She skipped to his side, catching his hand and kissing him softly on the cheek. "How did you know?" Harry asked.

"I told you, Harry. Things have a way of sorting themselves out."

Harry shrugged, gazing down at Fred. "I guess they do."

Luna waited. She knew Harry quite well; she could sense that he needed to talk, that he needed to work something out before he went in to face Voldemort.

Harry mused wistfully, "I remember when Dumbledore first told me about the Horcruxes, about how determined Voldemort was to beat death. I remember thinking maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, to want to find a way never to die."

Luna kept quiet, letting Harry talk it through.

"Do you remember the Department of Mysteries? That archway we saw?"

"There were people," Luna recalled, her dreamy voice heavy with emotion as she pictured poor Sirius Black falling through the arch. "People talking on the other side of the veil."

Harry turned to stare down the rows of fallen defenders spread out around them. "I saw Sirius tonight," he said, his voice full of wonder. "And my parents, and Lupin. Back there in the Forest, when I was going to meet Voldemort."

"The Resurrection Stone," Luna murmured, her fingers moving reflexively to the seahorse charm around her neck, where Draco had hidden what she had always thought the most disturbing of the Deathly Hallows.

Harry kept his gaze averted as he asked, "Do you think it's possible that we don't just end when we die? That there's something…more?"

"Yes," Luna answered, with absolute certainty.

"Then there's really nothing left to be afraid of, is there?" Harry turned to face her. "I mean, if the people we love are waiting for us, and the people we leave behind will join us someday, then why be scared of dying?"

Luna smiled serenely into Harry's green eyes. "Actually, I've always thought it was living that was hard."

Now, watching Harry face down Voldemort, Luna felt no fear. Her faith in Dumbledore had been vindicated: He had not set Harry up to die after all, just as he had not set Draco up to die; the venerable Headmaster had trusted that Luna would find a way to save Draco and that Harry's selfless courage would be enough to save him.

Voldemort flourished the Elder Wand, taunting Harry with what he believed would be the tool of the Chosen One's destruction as he and Harry circled one another. The Great Hall fell perfectly silent once more; the defenders seemed to be holding their breaths, no one daring to move an inch as the self-proclaimed Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived faced each other for the last time.

Harry didn't flinch from the sight of the Deathstick. In fact, he smirked. "That wand's still not working properly for you, is it?" he challenged the Dark Lord.

Voldemort grated a glance toward Draco, who tugged Luna behind him, as if fearful the Dark Lord might decide to send a Killing Curse his way and accidentally hit her instead. At the same moment, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny positioned themselves in front of Draco, each glaring balefully at Voldemort, as if to say, _You want him, you have to get through us._

Luna could have kissed each of them.

"Oh, it's not because Malfoy's still alive," Harry informed Voldemort, following his gaze.

The Dark Lord sneered at him. "You pretend to understand the magic of the Elder Wand better than I?"

"I know lots of things you don't know, Tom Riddle." Harry didn't sound angry; he was completely calm, reminding Luna distinctly of Dumbledore, who had always been unflappable in the face of danger. "Like I know you think Dumbledore's last plan backfired. That Malfoy killed him for you. But he didn't."

A collective gasp rose from the defenders. "Dumbledore is dead!" Voldemort shouted, though Luna thought he looked slightly panicked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Dumbledore's dead, but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

Voldemort's eyes blazed with fury, but still, he held back from attacking Harry. Luna could see he hadn't expected that – he must have believed Draco had been loyal to him on some level, despite having lied about being an Animagus. She suspected what it really came down to was that someone as arrogant as Voldemort couldn't abide the idea of having been hoodwinked by a teenager.

The Dark Lord quickly recovered from Harry's revelation, however. "Even if you what you say is true, Draco Malfoy's treachery means nothing to me," he declared coldly. "When I finish with you, I shall dispose of him – and anyone who stands between us," he added harshly.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Don't even think about it," Hermione snapped, sensing that he was about to move away from them, not wanting to draw Voldemort's wrath down on anyone else. She sounded so bossy, so very Hermione-like, that Draco obeyed.

"You're not listening," Harry argued evenly. "Malfoy never beat Dumbledore. Dumbledore's death was planned between them. Dumbledore died undefeated."

For a second, Voldemort seemed at a loss for words. Then he laughed, a high, brittle sound, like ice cracking underfoot. "But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand! I stole the wand from the last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"

Harry stopped circling. Draco's grip tightened on Luna's fingers; she squeezed his hand in response. The moment was near now. Very, very near.

"Didn't you listen to Ollivander?" Harry shot back. "The wand chooses the wizard. The Elder Wand recognized a new master when Dumbledore died, someone who never laid a hand on it. Someone who knows better than you what real power is – the power of love."

Everyone in the hall leaned forward, hanging on Harry's next words.

"The true master of the Elder Wand is Draco Malfoy."

Draco, his fingers still twined in Luna's, did push gently through Ron, Hermione and Ginny then, coming to stand bravely at the edge of the circle of defenders. Every eye in the room was fixed on him as he offered Voldemort a cool, triumphant smile.

Draco bowed ever-so-slightly to Harry. "And I surrender it to a new master – Harry Potter, the Chosen One."

Voldemort scowled. "Fools! The Elder Wand cannot be surrendered. It must be won!"

Harry shrugged, supremely unconcerned. "So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand answer to love?" Voldemort glanced down uncertainly at the Deathstick, as if for the first time doubting whether he truly had the power to defeat the Chosen One.

Harry smiled. "Because if it does…I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

Just as dawn broke in the sky outside, casting red-gold light through the windows of the Great Hall, the sunrise turning Harry's emerald eyes into twin flames, Voldemort brandished the Elder Wand.

This time, Luna didn't look away.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Golden sparks appeared where the spells collided. The Elder Wand sailed out of Voldemort's grasp, flying through the air; with the easy agility of a Seeker, Harry reached up and caught it.

The Dark Lord crumpled to the ground, his snake-like eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling of the Great Hall, which showed a clear, beautiful morning over Hogwarts.

Lord Voldemort was dead; the battle was over; Harry had won.

So many fallen.

Draco, after being swarmed by a mass of adoring classmates, cheered and hugged and applauded by every single member of the D.A., actually kissed on the cheek by Professor McGonagall, managed to slip away from the celebration in the Great Hall. Luna never left his side as he made his way into the foyer to kneel beside Johanna Evanston and little Colin Creevey.

"They shouldn't have been here," Draco voiced his bitter thoughts. "Colin was underage, and Jo…" He shook his head. "Jo wasn't made for this kind of fight. They should have left with the others."

Kneeling beside him, Luna rested her hand gently on Draco's shoulder. "They had their reasons for staying. They wanted to fight. We all did."

Next to Johanna lay Snape. Draco didn't know who had brought his body up from the Shrieking Shack or who had carefully cleaned the blood away from his neck, but he was thankful to whoever it was.

"There's something I never really understood," Draco confessed to Luna, reaching out and brushing his fingers across the back of Snape's cold hand. He kept his eyes on the Headmaster's still face as he spoke.

"What's that?"

"Why Snape was working for Dumbledore. Why he wanted to protect Potter, much as he seemed to loathe him."

Luna smoothed Snape's black hair into place with the tips of her fingers. "Does it really matter?" she asked, in her sweet, airy way. "He did what was right."

Draco had to admit, she had a point. "Yes," he agreed. "I suppose that's all that matters."

The sound of soft crying caught his attention then. Across the room, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and all of her brothers except for one – Weasley – were standing over Fred's body, sobbing. The other D.A. members – Longbottom, holding hands with Hannah; Seamus, his arm around Parvati Patil's shoulders; Padma, Cho, Ernie, Susan, Dean, and Lee Jordan, all leaning on one another – were filtering out into the foyer, drifting off to cry over their fallen comrades.

Draco wondered briefly why Potter, Weasley and Hermione weren't there, where the trio had gone off to. He supposed they would be anxious for some peace and quiet, after everything that had happened, and obviously, they would want to be together.

Draco knew just how Potter felt as a sudden, overpowering urge to escape coursed through him. He didn't think he could stand to be inside the castle, caught up in all the heartache and loss, for another minute.

Suddenly, Draco knew exactly where he wanted to be.

"Will you come with me?" he asked Luna, getting to his feet.

She smiled brightly. "Are we running away?"

Draco draped his arm around her shoulders; she rested her head against his arm, sighing contentedly. "Maybe later."

Together, they walked through the rosy dawn down a familiar lane leading away from the castle. Draco didn't look back. There would be time to rebuild. For now, he didn't want to see the damage Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done to Hogwarts.

At the edge of the lake, a place Draco had avoided all year, Dumbledore's white tomb sparkled in the early morning sunlight. It was time to say goodbye.

For a long while, the two of them stood before Dumbledore's grave, not saying anything. The enormity of all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours washed over Draco, leaving him wrung-out on the inside, trembling from weariness on the outside.

It was over. It was really, finally over.

"Do you think he knew?" Draco asked Luna. He reached out, his fingertips hovering above the white stone, not quite touching it. "Do you think Dumbledore knew how it would all turn out?"

Another voice answered for Luna. "I think he would say he hoped for the best."

Luna stepped back, smiling encouragingly at Draco, as Harry Potter walked toward them.

Glancing over Potter's shoulder, Draco saw Hermione and Weasley, their arms linked, standing on the shore of the lake with Ginny, who was no less beautiful for her red, swollen eyes. Luna skipped toward them, folding Ginny in a hug when she reached their small group.

Draco looked away, tears stinging his eyes. It wasn't fair, what they'd lost. Even defeating Voldemort didn't seem quite worth it at that moment.

Potter, pale from exhaustion, took his place beside Draco in front of Dumbledore's tomb. "What you did for me," he began haltingly.

Draco held up his hand. "If it's all the same to you," he offered, sounding as tired as he felt, "I'd rather not say 'thanks' and 'sorry' and all that."

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter studying him. After a moment, the corner of the Chosen One's mouth twitched up into a wry grin.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I suppose we're a little beyond that at this point."

Potter held out his hand to Draco. In his palm rested a dark stone – the Resurrection Stone, Draco realized with a jolt. "I thought you might want it," Potter said, to Draco's questioning look. "You never had a chance to say goodbye to your parents. I thought maybe you could, now that everything's finished."

More touched than he could say, Draco took the stone from Potter's hand. For over a year, he had worn that Hallow around his neck, and though he had been sorely tempted, he had never used it. He had done as Dumbledore wanted: He had saved the Hallows for the Chosen One, never more than a vessel, never trying to wield their power.

He wasn't sure, now, that he wanted that power.

As if reading his thoughts, Potter produced the Elder Wand from the pocket of his robes. Draco saw Weasley shake his head, like he couldn't quite believe what Potter was about to do.

Draco stared hard at Potter, trying (not for the first time) to figure his old enemy out. "You're putting it back?"

The Chosen One nodded mutely.

"Let me get this straight, Potter," Draco said tersely. "I nearly die trying to make sure you get your hands on that wand, and then you want to just give it up?"

"I like my wand," Potter replied. He held up the holly and phoenix feather wand, testing its weight in his palm; Draco had to admit, the wand looked right there, more natural than the Elder Wand.

"Anyway," Potter went on, his emerald eyes shifting to hold Draco's sapphire gaze, "like I told Ron and Hermione, this wand's more trouble than it's worth." He instinctively reached up to touch the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "And I've had enough trouble for one lifetime."

In spite of himself, Draco smiled. The truth was, he agreed with Potter: The Deathly Hallows had caused enough heartache to last an eternity.

Besides, much as he would have loved to have one more moment with them, Draco realized he didn't really need to say anything else to his parents. They had known that he loved them, and they'd known he was fighting against Voldemort before the end. Draco decided the Deathly Hallows were a lot like the Time Turner: It was tempting to wield that kind of power, to be able to arrange everything exactly to one's liking, to be the master of death. But in the end, wasn't that what Voldemort had wanted to do – to use magic to become more god than man?

Maybe some things were better off being lost forever.

Turning toward the lake, Draco flicked his wrist, sending the Resurrection Stone skipping lightly over the dark water. Halfway across, it sank quickly beneath the rippling waves.

Draco pulled the sleeve of his robe up to his left elbow, revealing his own scar – the Dark Mark, which, with the Dark Lord's death, had faded to a dull, watery gray. "Now you mention it," he remarked, "I think I've had quite enough trouble myself."

A flashbulb went off behind them. Draco and Potter turned together, startled, to find Xenophilius Lovegood beaming at them.

"Front page!" he called, waving his camera and moving off toward the castle. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, the champions of Hogwarts! I bet we sell a million copies!"

Watching Luna's dad walk away, Potter shook his head. "You know," he mused, "I kind of hope that's the last time I make the headlines."

Draco was pretty sure he understood how the Chosen One felt. Fame had once seemed quite appealing to him, but anonymity would be a nice change after everything they'd been through.

Draco didn't watch as Potter opened Dumbledore's tomb and replaced the Elder Wand in the Headmaster's hands. He kept his eyes fixed on Luna, drinking in her sunny smile and dancing eyes, seeing in her the promise of many happier days to come.

He knew what Potter was thinking, standing there, because they were the questions running through Draco's mind as well: What did they do now? How did they go on living after everything they'd had to sacrifice to see Voldemort defeated? How did they find their paths now that their destinies were no longer fixed?

"You're going to be all right," Draco said quietly, although Potter hadn't said a word. "We all are."

Potter glanced at him. "How do you know?" he asked, with frank uncertainty.

"I'm not sure," Draco admitted. "I guess I just have faith."

_Come back to me._

With those three all-important words echoing in his mind, words that had seen him through many dark days over the last year and a half, Draco walked away from Dumbledore's tomb, walked forward to where Luna stood skimming the toe of her shoe through the colorful rocks at the water's edge. She turned to face him with a brilliant, heart-stopping smile.

Hermione, Weasley, Ginny and Potter looked on as Draco dropped to one knee in front of Luna, who tilted her head to one side, smiling dreamily. He supposed he should have been nervous, but he wasn't. He knew exactly what he needed to say.

"There isn't anything left I have to do now. There aren't any more reasons you and I can't be together. And I know we've got a lot of things we have to sort out, about the future and what happens now that Voldemort's gone, but whatever happens next, I know there isn't any life for me without you. And I'm hoping you feel the same way."

Luna trailed her fingertips along his cheek. "Of course I do, silly."

"Good." Draco took her left hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't have a ring yet, but I didn't want to wait another minute to ask you: Luna Lovegood, will you be mine, forever?"

Dropping to her knees in front of him, Luna reached out and linked her arms behind Draco's neck. As she leaned in to seal his lips with a slow, tender kiss, she murmured, "I always have been, you know."

_**A/N**_: This is the end, but please come back to read the Epilogue– it's coming soon!


	32. Chapter 32

Epilogue: Friends

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Guess what I made today!"

Setting down his briefcase inside the door of the rook-like house he now called home, Draco swept the tiny elfin blonde up into his arms. "What'd you make today, love?" he asked his daughter, Gemini Narcissa Malfoy.

Gemini gazed at him with sparkling topaz eyes. Leaning in to cup her small hand around his ear, she whispered, "I made Uncle Harry's Christmas present!"

"You did, did you?" Draco carried his five-year-old daughter down the hall to the kitchen, where Luna, looking radiant in a wine-colored dress beneath her old lime-green coat – which still buttoned over her pregnant belly, though just barely – was pulling a wool cap over the silky blonde head of a small boy, who was the picture of his father, right down to his pointed chin.

Even after six years of marriage, Luna's beauty still took Draco's breath away. He shifted Gemini to his other hip, leaning in to kiss his wife softly on the lips.

Luna ran her fingertips tenderly across Draco's cheek. "You're late," she chided gently.

"Sorry, love. Jordan wanted to run some new material by me for next week's edition, and I lost track of time," Draco apologized. Luna, long used to being the wife of a newspaperman, smiled to show him she wasn't really upset.

"Gemini tells me she made Potter a present."

"She drew him a lovely picture," Luna confirmed, beaming at her daughter. "And Scorpius drew Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione one, didn't you?"

Scorpius James Malfoy, at two years old the copy of Luna's dreamy nature despite being exactly like his father in looks, nodded serenely. "Hello, Daddy," the little boy said airily, holding up a drawing of what Draco assumed were supposed to be two hippogriffs flying through a brightly-colored rainbow.

"Hello, Scorpius," Draco returned, reaching out and scooping his son up into his other arm. "Are those hippogriffs from where Mummy works?"

Scorpius nodded. "George and Marley," he named the beasts. "Uncle Hagrid let me name them."

"He did, did he?"

"He also told me you don't like hippogriffs." Scorpius studied his father solemnly. "That's not true, is it, Daddy? You like hippigriffs, don't you?"

Winking at Luna over their son's shoulder, Draco replied dryly, "I might've had a bad experience with a hippogriff once, but I'm sure I'd like George and Marley."

Draco's children had both inherited their mother's love of magical creatures – which might have been due in part to the fact that, as they were still far too young to attend Hogwarts yet, they spent their days with their mother and "Uncle Hagrid" (now retired from Hogwarts) at The Rubeus Hagrid Home for the Care of Magical Creatures. After Hogwarts, Luna had decided to follow in her mother's footsteps by becoming a wizarding naturalist; although she had yet to reach her thirtieth birthday, she was now a world-renowned authority on the Healing of unicorns, hippogriffs, dragons, and all manner of magical beings.

Not long after Luna graduated, Draco had volunteered his parents' house (which he had no intention of ever living in again, not with its terrible memories) and a substantial portion of his inheritance to help Luna set up her hospital. He had never regretted that decision, and he thought his parents would have been pleased by the renovations Luna had made to Malfoy Manor.

Draco had never stopped missing his parents, of course, though as time passed, he found he could think of them without being overcome by grief or anger – or being reminded of Voldemort's reptilian face. When Draco walked the halls of Luna's remarkable facility now, one that ran as efficiently as St. Mungo's despite being filled with fire slugs and phoenixes instead of people, he couldn't help thinking that Narcissa Malfoy would have smiled to see a unicorn wandering through her rose garden.

The home Draco and Luna had made near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole suited him better than Malfoy Manor would have these days, anyway. There was nothing austere about the rook-like house where Luna had grown up, a house Xenophilius had left to them a few years back when he'd retired to a wizarding commune in Greece. While the house was nicely-appointed, thanks to Draco's inheritance and he and Luna's success as professionals, it was decidedly lived-in. Luna had painted the rooms in fanciful colors like lilac, buttercup-yellow, and magenta; her hand-drawn portraits of their friends and family, linked by chains of roses and daisies, filled the walls, bringing light and warmth to the whole house. The old printing press had long since been moved to the new offices of _The Quibbler _in Diagon Alley, but the house these days was no less crowded and cluttered with two small children running about.

Draco loved the mess. He wouldn't have traded their home for a million mansions.

The clock on the wall chimed seven. Smiling at both of his children, Draco asked, "Who's ready for presents?"

"I am!" Gemini shouted, clapping her hands. Unlike her little brother, Gemini was noise and action: Draco wasn't sure who she took after, as neither he nor Luna had ever been rambunctious, but he adored her fiery nature all the same.

"What about Mummy? Is she ready?" Draco inquired, watching Luna twist her honey-blonde curls up into a thick bun on top of her head. He had to smile when he saw the seahorse charm fastened around her slender neck.

Thankfully, some things never changed.

"Mummy is ready," Luna declared. "Let's go."

It was a short walk through a world made enchanting by lightly-falling snow. Draco walked hand-in-hand with Luna, chatting quietly about their days, while Gemini and Scorpius skipped ahead, tossing snowballs at one another.

The lights of the Burrow soon came into view.

"Luna! Draco! Kids! Happy Christmas! My goodness, that's a full house," Arthur Weasley greeted them moments later, helping Luna (whose swollen belly left her slightly off-balance) step over the threshold. His hair had gone entirely gray over the last six years, yet Draco thought Ron's dad still looked quite spry. "Molly! They're here!"

"Well, then, I think that's everybody." Molly Weasley, appearing slightly harassed at her houseful of guests, bustled into the kitchen. She snatched Gemini into the air and showered her with kisses; the little girl giggled. "You run along now, dear," she instructed her, setting her down with a last kiss. "James and Rose are in the backyard making snowmen, I think. Scorpius, can Grandma Molly interest you in a biscuit?"

Scorpius held his arms up to Mrs. Weasley, who settled him on her hip before pausing to pat Draco warmly on the cheek. "Lovely to see you, dear," she commented. To Luna, she observed merrily, "And you, Luna, look at you! You look beautiful. When's the big day?"

"New Year's, we're hoping," Draco answered for his wife. He wasn't sure why, but he really liked the idea of a New Year's birth.

"We're certain it's going to be girls, then?"

"Oh yes," Luna answered serenely, placing one hand atop her belly. "Eostara Jean and Selena Ginevra."

Mrs. Weasley took Luna's word for it. After all, Luna had been right about every pregnancy so far – hers, Hermione's, and Ginny's, all. Draco had learned not to doubt Luna's intuition on such matters, not even when she'd announced, before her stomach had even started to round, that this time, she would be having twins.

Draco trailed along behind his wife through the crowded living room, where most of the Weasley's immediate (and adopted) family had gathered for Christmas Eve. Bill, Fleur (still unbelievably gorgeous) and their children; Harry's godson, Teddy Lupin; Ron's brother Charlie, still unmarried; Percy, his dark-haired wife Audrey, and their young daughters; and George's wife Angelina with their two children, little Fred and the baby Roxanne, were gathered around the Christmas tree, the children calling out instructions as the adults floated the last of the bulbs onto the branches.

"Happy Christmas!" the Weasley siblings and their families chorused, waving to Draco and Luna.

Draco grinned when he spotted the real gnome atop the tree. Every year, George Immobilized one of the Weasleys' garden gnomes and dressed it in a tutu to serve as the tree's angel, something Hermione had once told him the twins used to do together.

Draco wondered if any of them would ever stop missing Fred. He doubted it.

Draco followed Luna into the kitchen, where Hermione and Ginny were helping Mrs. Weasley put the finishing touches on dinner. Like Luna, both were pregnant, and both were just as radiantly beautiful.

Hermione turned her attention from the cooking to give Draco a warm hug. "Happy Christmas," she greeted him.

"Happy Christmas, Granger," Draco replied. He still called her "Granger," even though she'd been Mrs. Hermione Weasley for almost eight years now. It never failed to make her smile.

Ginny was holding her youngest son, Albus, on her lap at the kitchen table. The toddler was fast asleep, thumb stuck in his mouth. She tilted her cheek up for Draco to kiss. "Harry and Ron are outside," she told him. "You might see if you can get them to come in before the kids all freeze to death."

Draco offered a mock-salute. "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Potter." Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

In the Weasleys' backyard, where Draco had once descended into the midst of Bill and Fleur's wedding as a Death Eater, he found Potter and Weasley helping Potter's eldest son James, Weasley's daughter Rose, and Gemini build an enormous, lop-sided snowman. Rose, who took after her mother in looks and personality, was bossily instructing her playmates in how to arrange the snowman's coal buttons.

"No, Gemini," Rose insisted, reaching out to remove the purple stone Gemini had just pressed into the snowman's belly. "Buttons are black on snowmen, not purple!"

"Rose," Weasley reproved, "let Gemini do it her way, okay?"

Rose frowned at her father. "But, Daddy, it's not _right_! None of the snowmen in books have purple buttons."

"She has a point, Weasley," Draco commented. To the children, he called, "Let's do this one in black buttons, Gemini, and tomorrow at home we'll make one with purple buttons, all right?" His daughter nodded, easily appeased, as always.

Potter stuck his hand out to Draco. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

"And to you, Potter," Draco said. Turning to Weasley, he offered, "How's things at the Ministry?"

"Good to see you, mate," Weasley responded, clasping Draco's hand. "I'm still getting used to it, I think. Being an Auror's a bit different than running a joke shop."

"Not nearly as profitable, either," George remarked, emerging from behind the snowman. "I keep telling him, there's no money in honest work." They all laughed.

On days like today, it would strike Draco anew how amazed he was at the way his life had turned out – better than he could ever have imagined at seventeen, when the world had seemed interminably dark and dangerous.

After Voldemort's fall, things had not immediately returned to normal. Looking back on it now, Draco realized those tumultuous months had ultimately been for the best. Through the rebuilding of Hogwarts and the trials of Voldemort's surviving Death Eaters (including Rastaban Lestrange, who had ultimately been acquitted for his crimes during the Second Wizarding War thanks to the service he'd done both Potter and Draco), the magical world had confronted some of its most deeply-entrenched prejudices, especially those against Muggle-borns and half-breeds. Learning, even courtesy of Rita Skeeter, that even Albus Dumbledore had once considered a policy of Muggle domination had changed the way a lot of people thought about things. No longer had it seemed safe to go on with the status quo, assuming that only those rare, truly evil wizards like Voldemort and Grindelwald would ever defy the International Statute of Secrecy. Suddenly, the need to decide what witches and wizards would and would not do with their power had become a pressing matter.

As long as there was magic, Draco knew there would be those who believed having magical abilities gave one the right to dominate those who didn't. Nevertheless, in the years since Voldemort's defeat, a large measure of the Pureblood mania that had allowed him to rise to power in the first place had died away in the wake of the Chosen One's victory.

But, impossible as it had seemed at the time, life had eventually gone on, even coming to resemble something like normalcy, if undoubtedly a new normal. Draco had finished out the last few weeks of his seventh year at Hogwarts and had performed so well on his N.E.W.T.s that just about any career path had been open to him. Surprisingly, the only job offer that had appealed to him had come from Luna's father: Xenophilius had asked his daughter's boyfriend to intern for _The Quibbler _as a reporter, and while Draco had at first accepted as a way to get to know his future father-in-law better, he had found himself well-suited to the life of a newspaperman.

Along with Hermione, who to no one's surprise had wanted to go back for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts ("I know I could pass my N.E.W.T.s," she had insisted when Weasley had demanded to know why on earth she would take on another year of school, "but think of everything I could learn!"), Luna and Ginny had finished out their seventh years while Draco was cutting his teeth as a reporter. Potter, who had sailed through his N.E.W.T.s despite missing his last year, had embarked on what would be an exemplary career as an Auror at the Ministry, while Weasley had set up shop in London with George.

They could have all gone their separate ways then, Draco supposed, but for some reason, Potter, Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Draco had seemed drawn to one another. Maybe people simply couldn't go through everything the six of them had gone through together without becoming friends for life. In any event, Dumbledore got his wish in the end: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had, at last, become great friends.

While the girls had finished school, the two former enemies had taken an apartment together in London, not far from The Leaky Cauldron. Draco hadn't been there much, seeing as he had spent his first year after Hogwarts traveling the world and sending back reports on international magical life that had quickly made _The Quibbler _a sensation. When he had been around, he and Potter had gotten on remarkably well.

Once Ginny and Luna had graduated, Draco had immediately returned to England full-time, formalizing the proposal he'd made after the Battle of Hogwarts with a gorgeous goblin-made diamond ring, a Malfoy family heirloom. The two had married about a year later and had taken a house in London. Ginny and Potter had moved slower – Ginny had joined the Holyhead Harpies, playing Seeker for a couple of years before settling down to work as a Quidditch reporter for _The Prophet _– but they had eventually married as well. They lived in the house Potter's godfather, Sirius Black, had left to him, though it was now a sunnier, happier place than it had been when the Order of the Phoenix had used it as headquarters.

To everyone's surprise, Weasley and Hermione had beaten even Draco and Luna to the altar. At the time, Draco had suspected that, once Potter's choice had become clear, Hermione hadn't wanted to give him a chance to change his mind; in the years that had followed, however, Draco had come to see that Hermione did love Weasley, who clearly adored her. Eventually, Draco had, albeit grudgingly, admitted that perhaps Weasley was good enough for Hermione after all.

Maybe.

The strangest collaboration of all, however, even stranger than Potter and Draco becoming roommates, had been that between the free-spirited Luna and the bookish Hermione. Hermione had become Luna's partner in setting up The Rubeus Hagrid Home for the Care of Magical Creatures, using her fast-growing reputation in the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to secure funding for their combined hospital-and-shelter.

Draco thought Dumbledore would have approved.

"About time! You'd best come in by the fire and warm up," Hermione chided Ron, when he, Harry, Draco, and George wandered into the kitchen, stamping snow off their boots. Gemini, Rose and James filed in behind them, their cheeks rosy from the cold.

Harry walked over and hugged Luna, who was helping Scorpius decorate sugar cookies with green and red icing. "You look beautiful," he commented, holding her at arm's length to study her.

"Thank you," Luna replied happily. She enjoyed being pregnant: Not everything about it was fun, of course, but being a mother fulfilled Luna in a way she could never have imagined. The only thing that compared to it was being Draco's wife.

Draco, Harry and Ron moved off to help Mrs. Weasley finish setting the table for dinner. Luna smiled at her husband, watching him surreptitiously. At seventeen, she had thought him the most handsome boy in the world; he had only gotten better-looking over the last decade, in Luna's opinion. He wore his sleek blonde hair a bit longer now, so his bangs were always falling in his sapphire eyes, and despite the fact that he spent most of his time in front of a typewriter, he had remained lean and athletic. Luna had seen first-hand that he still turned heads as he strode down Diagon Alley in his sharp black suit and newsboy cap, his signature look as editor-in-chief of _The Quibbler_.

Luna suspected no matter how long they were married, Draco would always be able to make her go weak-kneed just by walking into a room.

Hermione turned to Luna, drawing her attention reluctantly away from her husband. "We've settled on a name for the baby," she announced, Levitating the turkey out of the oven and setting it down on the counter. "Arthur Hugo, after Ron's dad and mine. We're going to call him Hugo."

"That's lovely," Luna declared, meaning it.

"We've decided on a name, too," Ginny spoke up. She was setting a sleepy but finally wakeful Albus onto his feet, where the little boy toddled off toward his dad, who had come back into the kitchen with Ron and Draco in search of more forks. "We're going to call her Lily Luna."

Luna felt tears spring to her eyes – happy tears, nonetheless the product of hormones, as she wasn't normally a weepy sort of person.

Across the room, Harry met her eye and grinned. "For two of the bravest women I know," he called.

"You notice we never get kids named after us, Weasley?" Draco put in, his sardonic grin showing he was only joking.

"Yeah, I have noticed that," Ron agreed. He turned to Hermione with a look of mock indignation. "What's wrong with 'Draco'? Or how 'bout 'Bilius'?"

"I think Bilius is a fine name," Draco argued, simply to annoy Hermione, Luna knew.

"See there?" Ron challenged his wife. "Malfoy knows a good sturdy Weasley name when he hears one."

"Ronald, I would never say this to your mother, but 'Bilius' is a horrid name," Hermione retorted, earning a snort of laughter from Harry.

"I think we should name somebody Whiskers," Ginny offered teasingly, smirking at Draco.

"Goodness, boys, haven't you found those forks yet?" Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, though her smile kept her from sounding too severe. "C'mon, you lot, before the food gets cold!"

Draco, Ron, and Harry each took their wives' arms as they made their way into the dining room, where a veritable feast was laid out across the Weasleys' enormous dining room table – a gift from Draco and Luna two Christmases ago, when Mrs. Weasley had declared that the family had finally outgrown the old one.

Walking alongside Harry and Ginny, Draco asked, "Given any more thought to coming to work for a real paper, Mrs. Potter?"

Ginny laughed. "I didn't know Quidditch was of great interest to _The Quibbler._"

"Well, every now and then we do take a break from serious journalism," Draco joked, earning laughs all around.

Under Draco's direction, _The Quibbler _had become much more than a tabloid. Although Luna was proud of the work her father had done, she had to admit, she was even more proud that nowadays people said _The Prophet _reported the facts, but _The Quibbler _reported the truth.

Xenophilius had quickly realized he had a true prodigy on his hands after Draco had come to work for him, and within a couple of years, Luna's father had happily started spending more and more of his time traveling around the world to exotic places in search of the mythic creatures he so adored. Draco's way of doing things had from the first brought in more than enough money to finance Xenophilius' excursions. What made _The Quibbler _so successful, in Luna's opinion, was that Draco had learned not to doubt the impossible: He wasn't afraid to follow a hunch, to get to the bottom of a mystery, and as such _The Quibbler _had become known for hard-hitting investigative journalism, in-depth commentaries, and its specialty, a groundbreaking section on International Magical Life which kept the wizarding world far more connected than _The Prophet _had ever done. Though Draco did much of the writing himself, the magazine employed a full staff of world-traveling reporters, including Lee Jordan, the mastermind behind "Potterwatch," Seamus Finnigan, and his wife, Parvati Patil.

Xenophilius also contributed content from his many journeys: accounts of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Wrackspurts, Nargles, Yetis, and dozens of other magical beasts. In fact, Luna's dad continued to write the occasional guest column from Greece, where he had retired three years ago after officially signing _The Quibbler _over to his daughter and son-in-law. The most recent column had been a brilliant treatise (in Luna's opinion) on the Blibbering Humdinger.

Soon, they were all settled in around the table, enjoying a delicious spread only Molly Weasley could have put together. As they tucked into second helpings of pudding, Gemini suddenly bounced out of her chair and hurried over to Harry, placing the drawing she had made for him on the table.

"Happy Christmas, Uncle Harry," she announced.

Luna slipped her hand into Draco's under the table, squeezing his fingers, as he peered over Harry's shoulder for a look.

Gemini had drawn two stick figures standing side-by-side near a black lake. One figure had a lightning-shaped scar etched prominently on its forehead; the other had a curious gray mark on its left forearm – a snake slithering out of a skull's mouth. Behind the figures loomed a large white sepulcher.

Luna knew where Gemini had gotten the idea for her picture, because it hung over the fireplace in their living room: a framed front page of _The Quibbler_, published just days after the Battle of Hogwarts, showing Harry and Draco standing together in front of Dumbledore's tomb. Luna well recalled that morning, for as Harry had stepped up to stand beside his old enemy, it was the moment when she had seen the deepest wish of her time at Hogwarts fulfilled.

Harry and Draco had become friends.

"Thank you, Gemini," Harry said now, passing the picture around for the others to see. "That's a very nice gift."

"It's you and Daddy, when you were famous," Gemini informed Harry seriously.

"Daddy was famous?" James whispered from the far end of the table, looking wide-eyed at his father, as if seeing him for the first time.

Ron piped up with a wink at Harry, "Nah, I was really the one who was famous, kiddo. You ask anybody, they'll remember the name Ron Weasley."

Laughter broke out around the table. Luna, her hand clasped in Draco's, surrounded by her family and friends, privately remarked how wonderful it was when life turned out to be better than a fairytale.

Because Voldemort's death had not been their happy ending after all. The Dark Lord's defeat had been only the beginning of their greatest adventure yet.

Life.

**The End**

THANK YOU for reading this entire story! Do you know how much I love you? The greatest pleasure for any writer is to be read.

And to that end, I would ask, if you enjoy good fiction (or, at least, my writing), that you go visit my profile page and see where to find my original fiction! I promise to continue writing fanfics as well, of course, but it would be wonderful to have you, my dear ones, read the characters which spring fully-formed from my own mind as well! xoxo Jesse Daro


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